


Not by Choice

by Ilsia



Category: Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Rating May Change, Should be fine to read without prior knowledge of Twelve Kingdoms, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Twelve Kingdoms Fusion, Unreliable Narrator, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 90,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilsia/pseuds/Ilsia
Summary: When Yuuri was 10, he disappeared from the family onsen on a cold April evening, as if taken away by the unexpected snowstorm. When he was 18, he was found sitting on the blank surface of the ice at Ice Castle, the skating rink nearby. There was no snow, but he was covered in scrapes and completely naked, with his hair long and his eyes vacant. It took him weeks to start reacting to the world outside of his own mind.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a gaping maw in his mind, one that he doesn’t dare prod at too deeply. He feels if he does it’ll rear up and swallow him, and he’ll never make it back out again. It’s like those whispers that follow him, always there, always watching, waiting for him to let his guard down.

The vast expanse of nothing stretches between two inconsequential moments, seemingly unconnected, an infinite time between each, yet impossibly tied together.

When Yuuri was 10, he disappeared from the family onsen on a cold April evening, as if taken away by the unexpected snowstorm. When he was 18, he was found sitting on the blank surface of the ice at Ice Castle, the skating rink nearby. There was no snow, but he was covered in scrapes and completely naked, with his hair long and his eyes vacant. It took him weeks to start reacting to the world outside of his own mind.

Yuuri never tells anyone of all that remains of those eight years, flashes of memory that disappear like smoke in the wind if he tries to grasp at them. They’re inconsistent and blurred, mere wisps of a faint recollection, impossible to piece together into anything resembling a whole. The most he gets is a soft voice and cool hands in his hair, of wind brushing past him, solid and strong. It feels like flying and freedom. These, he only experiences while dreaming, and they’re quick to dissipate as soon as he wakes, often leaving him reaching through thin air as if desperately trying to grab onto something or someone. He doesn’t tell anyone of the dreams. He doesn’t tell anyone of the way they make his eyes well with tears, the feeling of having lost something impossibly, infinitely beloved.

He doesn’t stay at home. He _can’t_ stay at home, not when all he can think of is trying to catch the falling snow on his tongue on a cold April evening, a soft voice and the feel of the cold ice below his bare thighs as he sits, confused and staring at the blurry shapes of nothing through tangled, sweaty black hair. The horrifying realization of all that he has lost, so suddenly, the empty nothingness of his mind like a rumbling beast he can’t escape.

He goes to America, instead.

Detroit is like breathing freely again. No one knows Yuuri, knows of the “miracle child” who disappeared and was returned, with an 8-year gap of missing memories and an unsolved mystery. Knows that there’s a story behind his long hair and that whispers follow him wherever he goes. Knows of the way he cries when he sleeps or the way his arms are always reaching for something that never reaches back.

People are friendly, if a little distant, mostly because it takes him a while to grasp the English language and get over his own nerves enough to actually start talking to them. Phichit is a comforting constant and cheery presence at his side, filling his silence with words that calm him down like nothing else. They become roommates and rink mates, and for the first time in months Yuuri can allow himself to relax a little.

It doesn’t last.

Yuuri’s memory ripples smoothly, yet blurred, from the snowflakes on his tongue to the clean, crisp air of the ice skating rink, with nothing but a black expanse in-between. From one moment to the other, he is dislocated in both space and time. His family thinks it’s because of where they found him, that and his friendship with Yuko that make him take up ice skating. They might be part of the reason, but the biggest, sharpest shard is his dreams. The feeling of the wind, the cool and cold touch of freedom, of flying, are something he can only tangibly experience on the ice.

Skating comes easily to him; it’s frighteningly easy to slip his feet into his skates and his mind into the swirl and twirl of blurred colours. It feels like he’s dreaming and awake at the same time. His surroundings twist and blur the same way as his memories, and while he’s on the ice it doesn’t matter that he has a slumbering beast within his mind or that he doesn’t know why he cries at night or refuses to cut his hair. On the ice, he’s free, unrestricted, flying in a way that’s the closest he can get to the depth of yearning within him.

Sometimes he thinks he’s going to be torn apart with the way he both runs away from and desperately races towards the same thing, that yawning emptiness of his own memories.

It’s the whispers that teach him not to let his guard down. He’s 20, finally beginning to settle into the shape of his new life in Detroit, the campus and the ice rink and his bed in an endless cycle of relaxing predictability. The whispers and the emptiness are always there, on the edge of his thoughts, but they don’t seem quite so vast and impossible to escape anymore. They’re especially distant on the nights when Phichit decides to not take no for an answer and drags him out, getting them both pleasantly tipsy and cheery, inevitably winding up on the couch in their shared flat, with Yuuri falling asleep to fingers threading through his hair and an old movie about skating playing for the nth time on their small, cheap television set.

He’s never questioned the whispers before, never dared to think of how they were there as if part of the nothing that has become of his mind, as if they’d always been there, a part of him that was just waiting for something to come to life. They were and weren’t there before. It’s a paradox he can’t quite solve.

It’s some drunkards, rowdy and riding on their own bluster, cornering Yuuri when he’s coming back from a late night at the rink. Phichit had left earlier, saying something about a paper that’s due tomorrow, so he’s alone and unprepared for the way they push up into his personal space, all stale breath and sharp elbows.

He doesn’t know what happens. One moment the men are there, grinding his head down into the concrete with their feet, the broken shards of glass and the dirt of the small alleyway stinging against his cheek – the next, he’s alone, in front of his and Phichit’s flat, with only a faint recollection of the whispers becoming roars and something akin to a shadow, if shadows were explosions of colour and light and darkness.

The news mentions a couple of teenagers discovering what looks like a murder site, a montage of blood and strips of fabric but no bodies or weapons. The police label it a juvenile prank, but the animal hairs and the amount of blood on the scene give birth to suspicion and rumours for weeks after the event. No mention of the men that had cornered him in the same alley earlier is made. Yuuri doesn’t approach the police, doesn’t know what he would or could say. There’s nothing tying him to the scene. He learns to not let his guard down, to not allow himself to relax into the steady patterns of his own life so much.

When he’s 23, Yuuri gets invited to the Grand Prix Finals, somehow qualifying despite his lack of interest in actually competing. He only attends the events his coach, Celestino takes him to, but apparently that’s enough. He doesn’t pay attention to his scores or any medals he earns, he only wants to skate and fly and be free in the only way he knows how. He doesn’t tell this to his coach or Phichit, of course, letting them think he’s happy about the chance to skate in bigger and bigger competitions.

His program isn’t good enough for the podium, so Celestino asks if he wants to up the difficulty and introduce more quads to it. Yuuri agrees easily enough, doesn’t bother telling him that as long as he can fly on the ice, he doesn’t care which jumps his program involves. His best routines always happen after hours, anyway, and they’re ever changing and fluid, not tied down by something like program requirements or judge scores. Quads allow him to fly more, at least, which is all he needs. He can’t land the quad flip yet, has only ever landed it once, but he’s comfortable enough with his toe loop and Salchow. He knows he’ll get the flip eventually – there’s no hurry, because the ice is patient and ever there.

Phichit doesn’t qualify for the GPF, but he walks them to the plane cheerily enough, waving them off with enough force to almost knock a passer-by off his feet.

Yuuri isn’t prepared for the way the whispers in his mind go quiet and almost mute when the pretty Russian with the silver hair walks into his line of sight. He’s never ended up in a competition with the man before, somehow managing to miss all of the ones the Russian took part in. There’s something quivering at the bottom of his stomach, some strange feeling he can’t place but that feels oddly familiar nevertheless. He doesn’t know if he likes it.

He takes to avoiding the Russian living legend as much as he can, enough so that by the end of the day Celestino is shooting him worried, confused looks that he has no answer to. The following day is the first day of the competition, and for the first time ever he watches Victor Nikiforov skate for his short program, wondering how he’s managed to live so long without ever seeing him skate, once.

Sure, he’s generally wrapped up in his own head and the jagged pieces that make up his mind, but even he keeps an eye on the figure skating scene, and Victor Nikiforov is by no means a new addition. The Russian has been dominating the scene for the past 4 years, and if his short program is any sign, will continue to do so for this one as well. His movements are so elegant and controlled, it’s like watching snowflakes cutting a path through the air, drifting through the crowd without ever touching one another, beautiful and present yet unreachable.

Oddly, Yuuri doesn’t feel threatened or scared. He can appreciate the beauty of the man’s skating, and it’s enough to distract him from the strangeness of his own mind and the feeling that’s been lingering in the back of his thoughts since he laid eyes on the older man. For the first time in his life he wants to skate for something other than the feeling of freedom and flight. He wants to show what he sees to this man, who skates like he’s flying on the ice himself.

Yuuri delivers his best short program yet, earning a new personal best score, which places him – somehow – just above Victor to the roars of the crowd. The following day, he dances on the ice to a new, improved free program and earns silver in his first ever GPF.

Victor Nikiforov, of course, wins gold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change, the more they stay the same.

”You skate like snowflakes.”

It isn’t at all what Yuuri intended to say. He can feel his face flushing as he stands, staring up at the Russian gold medalist stood near him, taking a break from the adoring crowd. Victor is staring back at him, looking at once both surprised and utterly confused. His brow is slightly furrowed, as if trying to process the words. When he sees Yuuri starting to speak again, he holds up a finger to stop the smaller man from speaking.

“I’d hope I’m not quite as fleeting and quick to melt as that,” Victor notes, though the corner of his mouth is tugging upwards.

“No, I meant – I’m sorry,” Yuuri stutters, feeling flustered and anxious at the misunderstanding. “I just – snow has its own choreography, something that’s beyond anything we can do, and they.. dance through the air so effortlessly without touching one another. They’re unique and fragile, but you might catch one if you’re lucky, and –“

His rushed explanation is interrupted by a chuckle. He isn’t sure if Victor can even make out what he’s saying with the speed and the mumbling, but the man seems amused regardless.

“Thank you. I think that’s one of the nicest and most unique things someone has ever said about my skating,” the Russian smiles at him, and it doesn’t look forced or fake at all. Nothing like the smile he showed for the cameras earlier that day.

The bronze medalist, Christophe Giacometti, pops up from nowhere to offer his own few cents to the conversational train wreck. “All lies, I tell him nice and unique things about his skating all the time. I should be hurt, Victor!”

“Your compliments sound more like come-ons, Chris,” Victor retorts back without a delay. “And telling someone their skating makes you want to see if they can dance as well horizontally isn’t really that unique as pick-up lines go.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Chris winks back, his mouth forming into a shape reminiscent of a kiss.

“I’m fairly sure you’ve actually used that line more than once and not just on me,” Victor muses aloud.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing your horizontal dance, either, Yuuri,” Chris says flirtatiously, completely ignoring Victor and directing his words to the embarrassed silver medalist instead.

Yuuri makes a sound akin to a dying whale – he would know, he grew up next to the sea – and buries his burning face in his hands, thankfully empty of a drink at the moment. He mostly uses the dainty glasses of champagne as props to avoid conversation, anyway.

Victor laughs, sounding happier than he’d been looking before Yuuri approached him with his ill-thought compliment. Chris seemingly decides to let him off easy, because the Swiss man only winks at the younger man and proceeds to engage Victor in a conversation about his free skate routine. Yuuri lets the cheerful atmosphere calm his nerves, eventually feeling relaxed enough to join in the conversation with his own thoughts and comments. It’s more fun than he’d expected to have at the banquet, honestly. He thought he’d simply stick to the walls and avoid talking to people, then slip away once it seemed socially acceptable to do so.

As with most things, letting his guard down proves to be his undoing. Later, he’ll place the blame firmly on where it belongs, namely one Christophe Giacometti.

* * *

 

When Yuuri opens his eyes, the blurry shapes behind the tangles of his hair are unfamiliar. For a few, long moments, he simply stares uncomprehendingly at nothing, thoughts struggling to shift into something resembling order.

As his mind reshapes itself, he thinks back to the last thing he remembers, and comes up empty. The sluggish movement of his thoughts halts to a frightening stillness.

There’s a terrifyingly familiar blank stretch in his memories, nothing to explain where and when he is, and he can’t help but think. _What if_.

He can feel the numbing chill under his feet, see the unnaturally cool breaths that barely frost the air, feel the even chillier sluggishness of his own thoughts. Blurry shapes, skin stinging from both the temperature and something much harsher than the cooling touch of cold air, sweaty long hair and absolute silence aside from his own panting breaths. _What if, what if, what if_.

Muttering a steady stream of “no, no, no” under his breath, he desperately reaches around for anything to orient himself - his glasses, his phone, anything at all – and promptly falls out of the bed he was apparently in, his legs tangled in the sheets he ends up pulling down with him.

As he lies on the floor of what appears to be a small, generic bedroom, his mind slowly starts to reorient itself properly, and he reaches for what he thinks might be the nightstand and manages to locate his phone upon it by blindly patting around with his right hand. Drawing it close to his face, he squints at the bright screen and the numbers happily blinking at him.

It’s okay. It’s alright. It’s not the same as the last time. The numbers inform him the gap in his memories only spans one night, not eight years of missed time and confusing disorientation. It’s the day after the banquet to celebrate the conclusion of the Grand Prix Finals. The blurry surroundings are most likely his hotel room, not a small ice rink in a small, faraway town. He’s not sure how his mind could even perform the leap, considering what he can make out of the room. It’s infinitely smaller, warmer and more decorated than any ice rink could or should ever be.

Fumbling with the phone, he swipes to unlock it and is surprised by a text informing him that he has 27 unread messages. Confused, he taps on them and finds himself staring at.. himself. And Victor Nikiforov. In a rather compromising position.

_What?_

Eyes widening, he swallows and curses under his breath, quickly swiping through the rest of the notifications. They’re all messages from various athletes and acquaintances, each one containing a different, embarrassing photo from what appears to be last night’s banquet. At least they explain why he can’t remember anything. He must’ve been black-out drunk to have done even _half_ of the things the him in the photos seems to be doing while having the time of his life, laughing and free in a way he can’t remember ever feeling.

Apparently his former self made the wise decision to get staggeringly drunk, proceeded to dance with various people including Victor Nikiforov and that cute if somewhat aggressive blonde kid that followed him around, have a drinking contest with Christophe Giacometti and then pole dance – POLE DANCE of all things – with the same man. He must’ve stripped at some point, too, considering his state of dress or the lack of it, though thankfully there are no pictures of _that_ act. Thank god for small mercies.

He doesn’t know whether to hope everyone at the party was just as black out drunk as him, delete all his social media accounts and disappear somewhere underpopulated – Alaska, maybe – or try to slink out of the hotel as quietly and quickly as possible to escape to his small, comfy and most importantly solitary flat in Detroit. Whatever he ends up doing, he’ll have to do it fast, because if his phone didn’t somehow break in all of last night’s action, it’s already nearing ten and the hotel hallways are going to get crowded soon with people.

Did Celestino prepare them tickets for the plane back? He can’t remember. First order of business is a shower – he feels about as gross as he probably smells, so a shower is a must. After that, he’ll have to go locate his coach and convince him to depart sooner than he’d probably planned on.

It takes him until the cold spray of water hits him in the face to realize that he hasn’t heard the whispers once since he woke up and had a bonding moment with the room’s floor.

* * *

 

Yuuri pieces together the procession of the evening from the messages on his phone while he and Celestino wait for their plane at the airport. He quickly figures out that Chris was the spark for the whole disaster – the man has no qualms about admitting to daring the silver medalist to drink some “experimental” concoction he’d had the bartender make. Yuuri, a notorious light-weight when it comes to alcohol, had only needed that one drink to throw his inhibitions to the air and “get the party started,” as Chris cheerfully informed him, accompanied by several winking emotes and one more photo from the party that he’d prefer to forget exists.

Resisting the urge to whimper, Yuuri hides his face behind his hands again like he has been doing on and off ever since they departed from the hotel. Beside him, his coach makes a questioning noise when Yuuri groans audibly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t stop me last night,” Yuuri accuses Celestino from behind his hands.

“You know I wasn’t even at the banquet at that point. I left early because of my stomach. You _know_ all that,” Celestino points out reasonably.

Yuuri doesn’t want to be reasonable. Right now he mostly wants to groan and whine, soak in the onsen until his headache melts away, and stop existing, in no particular order of importance. He considers deleting all of his social media accounts again.

“You need to be active on social medias if you want to maintain an image, Yuuri,” Celestino, who has apparently become a skilled mind reader, remarks from where he’s standing up to gather their belongings. “Besides, Phichit would never forgive you if you deleted your Instagram.”

Yuuri thinks that’s probably true. It doesn’t mean he’ll be happy about it, though. At least all the worrying and embarrassment, as second-hand as it seems with no recollection of the reasons, is enough to push the black hole of his mind into its deepest recesses. The silence of the whispers helps.

“Have you already thought about what you’d like to do about the World’s?” Celestino asks.

Yuuri considers the question as they get on the plane. He’s not sure he’s ready for another high level competition so soon. It’d also mean time away from his nights on the ice, more practice and even less time spent on his studies. He’s almost finished with college, but the work he still has left is some of the most important if he wants to graduate with good grades. Suddenly that seems more important, more present and real in a way it hasn’t before.

It feels a bit like waking up from a long dream.

He makes the decision.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, managed to scrounge up a bit more text for this. Sadly, it's still rather short (I personally prefer chapters of about 5k words), but what can you do. It doesn't have quite as much mystery, but at least there's dialogue this time, so maybe it balances out?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know each other is a long process. They're working on it.

Phichit manages to get a hold of his phone within a week of his return, because of course he does. Phichit and social media are inseparable. Yuuri would know, he was there for the marriage ceremony, complete with vows and phone straps in place of rings. To be fair, they were both drunk at the time. It doesn’t stop Phichit from proclaiming his love for his phone at every opportunity, and the possibility of divorce is never even mentioned.

Yuuri can only watch with increasing dread as Phichit’s eyebrows climb higher and higher as he scrolls through the photos on his friend’s phone.

“Wow,” is what the Thai skater finally says, with a note of incredulity in his voice. “You’ve been really holding out on me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri responds with a whine nearing hysterical levels and hides his face behind his hands, a gesture he’s getting increasingly familiar with ever since the disastrous banquet. The thoughts of the best-worst night of his life are ruthless and cunning in their random attack patterns, and by now he’s well acquainted with the feeling of wishing to cease existing.

“It’s not that bad,” Phichit hurriedly assures when it looks like Yuuri might be trying to asphyxiate himself to death. “From the looks of it, everyone else was drunk as well, and it looks like they had fun. See, Victor’s even laughing in this photo.”

Yuuri peeks out from behind his fingers at the blurry photo thrust into his face.

“Yeah, laughing _at me_.”

“That’s not true,” Phichit chides, “he looks like he’s enjoying himself. That’s not the face of someone making fun of someone else.”

Yuuri reluctantly comes fully out of hiding and looks properly at the phone still held towards him. He has to admit that it’s a fairly nice photo, of him in mid dip with Victor Nikiforov, both of them laughing carelessly and obviously drunk if their flushed cheeks are any sign. It looks intimate, familiar. It doesn’t look like two people who’d just talked for the first time that day.

“See? Not all bad, is it?” Phichit is grinning at him, somehow managing to look both amused and concerned.

They’re sitting at a café on the campus, in-between lectures. Yuuri had – stupidly – left his phone behind on the table when he went to get a coffee refill, and Phichit obviously took that as an invitation to have at it. He should be used to it by now, the way there’re no boundaries with Phichit, but in his defence there _is_ no getting used to Phichit. The younger man thrives on surprise.

He’s a bit like Victor Nikiforov in that sense, Yuuri thinks with a sigh.

“I heard from Ciao Ciao that you’re planning on not going to the World championships,” Phichit finally changes the topic and sets down the phone on the table, from where Yuuri is quick to snatch it back.

“If I want to pass the rest of my courses and actually graduate, I can’t really spare the time,” he points out.

Phichit makes a weird face that Yuuri can’t really decipher. Maybe something between disappointment and understanding, or maybe he’s just constipated. Maybe the stress of their courses is getting to him, too.

“I wish there were more hours in a day,” Phichit complains, slumping over the small table they’re sharing. “I bet the professors just want to get back at us for all the work they had to do when they were students. They should learn to let old grudges go. Love and peace, all live in harmony, rainbows and muffins and no homework, ever.”

Yuuri just hums in agreement, deciding to humour the half-mumbled rant. If he defends their teachers, Phichit will just complain more and possibly write an actual essay on why the professors are in a secret conspiracy to get back at their students as some weird form of revenge. And force him to read it. It’d probably be over 100 pages long, as well, because Phichit never does anything by halves and he loves seeing Yuuri suffer, as long as he’s the cause of it.

“Are you still coming to practice after classes?” Phichit asks from where his face is mushed against the table and some printouts, probably smudging ink all over his cheeks.

“Of course – just because I’m not going to the World’s doesn’t mean I won’t still practice. I need to keep in shape for next season, don’t I?”

“Wasn’t sure if you’d just decided to quit altogether,” Phichit admits quietly.

Yuuri smiles at him a bit. He supposes it’s good that he can still keep some secrets, despite how well they’ve grown to know each other. It’s true that he might have considered something like that if he’d not done well at the GPF, might have even considered it now if not for whatever it is that happened to him after he first saw Victor. That awareness is still there, lingering inside him. He’s finally awake, finally alive, and he’s not going to give up that feeling no matter what.

Besides, even if he did quit skating _competitively_ , he’d never quit skating itself. It means too much to him to even consider it.

“You know you’d never survive without me to keep you in check. Ciao Ciao would murder you within a week of having to put up with you without my interference,” is all that Yuuri voices.

Phichit drags himself back upwards and tilts his head in consideration, then concedes the point with a nod.

“You’re right. Though I’d so come back to haunt him. I’d be the best poltergeist ever.”

“You’d haunt his phone, probably.”

“That’s a great idea! I know what I’m dressing up as next Halloween!”

“What, a haunted phone?”

“Exactly!”

Yuuri wonders why he’s still friends with this guy.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit eventually decides to head back to Thailand as well, and they manage to get flights to their respective homes on the same day, so they head to the airport together. Yuuri has his certificate packed in his luggage and for once it’s something he can proudly show to his parents. A small proof of “I’m okay” and a quiet “thank you for letting me do what I had to.”

When he first… returned, for the lack of a better word, it took him a while to catch up with his peers in schooling. His parents hired tutors and he studied like hell to be able to attend the college he had chosen in Detroit. Even so, most of his grades were on the lower end of the spectrum, but considering the huge amount of catching up he’d had to do, it was nothing sort of a miracle that he made it in the program.

When he moved to Detroit, Phichit was one of the first people to accept him, age difference and all. The younger skater didn’t care about his quietness or the things he kept to himself, just went along with it and filled the silence with his own words. Yuuri still doesn’t know what he did to deserve such a good friend, but he’s thankful, so endlessly thankful that Phichit had decided on Detroit for his training.

They hug at the boarding gates for Phichit’s plane, since his flight is leaving first. The intimacy isn’t something that comes easily to Yuuri, considering his Japanese roots, but Detroit has taught him to be more open and Phichit has never made him feel unwanted or invasive. Even if they don’t share blood, they’re family in all the ways that matter.

“Let me know when the plane’s landed. And don’t forget to send pictures of the troublesome trio now and then,” Yuuri tells his best friend, feeling his mouth twist and tremble against his best efforts.

Troublesome trio is the name he gave to Phichit’s three hamsters – he could never remember which was which, and they earned the name several times over for all the times they ate his homework. Telling your professor that your dog ate your homework is one thing – telling him that your roommate’s hamsters ate it is on a whole other level.

“You’re such a worrywart,” Phichit grins, tugging on the ends of the shorter bits of hair escaping from Yuuri’s loose braid. “You know I’ll be calling you at least once a day to make sure you’re still alive and haven’t drowned yourself in the onsen or something.”

Yuuri smiles and squints through his watery eyes, trying to hold back the tears. He knows this isn’t a goodbye, not by a long shot, but he’s always hated separations. Even the tacky ones you see in b-class movies make him cry.

Phichit makes a small tsk sound.

“Don’t look so down, you’ll make me feel bad about not coming to live at your house like some overgrown lawn gnome, bumming off your parents.”

Yuuri laughs despite himself.

“Then Ciao Ciao would have to move to Japan. I don’t think the world could handle that.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without him, Yuuri?” Phichit asks for about the hundredth time, still looking worried about the whole thing.

When they discussed their future plans, Yuuri had decided on ending his coaching deal with Celestino, allowing the man to follow Phichit to Thailand as the Thai skater’s coach. It’d be impossible for the Italian to coach them both in their separate locations.

Celestino is a good fit for Phichit, Yuuri thinks. While he’s a good coach in general, he and Yuuri had never gotten along as well as the other two. Celestino could be encouraging and supportive, but he always lacked the kind of firm assertiveness that Yuuri needed. He was less hands on and more theoretical, while Yuuri needed something.. different. Something just hadn’t _clicked_.

“You know we were never as close as you two,” Yuuri reminds him now, gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I can find a good coach for me _somewhere_ in Japan.”

Phichit pouts a little, still looking slightly troubled, but lets the matter go. Overhead, the speakers announce the last call for his flight, drawing their attention.

“You better get going, don’t want to miss your flight and have to come to Japan with me, after all.”

“Yeah, that’d be such a hardship. Don’t be a stranger, Yuuri. Call me when you’re at home as well. If you don’t, I’ll change all of your social medias to say you want to marry your Pokémon Crystal and you like skating naked – and I bet you still haven’t changed your password.”

They laugh and hug one last time. Yuuri watches Phichit’s back as the Thai skater walks away and it feels like the end of something. He’s not sure if it’s also a beginning, but he thinks, hopes, yearns with an itch under his skin that prickles like needles, that it just might be.

 

* * *

 

 

The flight back to Japan is as long as it was the first time. He hasn’t been home in five years, which suddenly feels like a horribly daunting fact. He’s spent more time away from his family than with them, if you count the eight years he can’t remember. They’re practically strangers, if you look at it like that.

Deep down, he knows that his family loves him and no distance or time will change that. But knowing it is completely different from truly believing it.

When the plane finally lands at Fukuoka airport, Yuuri is exhausted from both nerves and a long, sleepless flight. He doesn’t expect anyone to meet him at the airport, prepared to make his own way to Hasetsu by a train. Therefore he’s surprised when he’s wrapped in a hug mere steps outside the terminal.

“Yuuri! Welcome back!” a feminine voice squeals way too close to his right ear, as the arms around him squeeze him tight enough to constrict his airways. He recognizes the voice, even after all this time.

“Minako-sensei?”

“That’s me!” Minako agrees happily, letting him go in order to do a small pirouette and spread open a banner that repeats the words she’d voiced seconds ago.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“Well, that’s a nice greeting after a full five years spent away! I came to get you, of course! Your mother thought you might’ve forgotten how to get back since it took you so long to come visit.”

Yuuri flushes with embarrassment, bowing down slightly and apologizing. He’s forgotten how to be polite, it seems, after all this time spent in America.

“Well, never mind that! Let’s go catch the train, there’s one leaving in twenty minutes. Your family is waiting at the hot springs. I was the only one that could get away long enough to come get you from the airport”, Minako continues cheerfully. “Congratulations on your silver, Yuuri! We watched you on the TV. You were great!”

Yuuri smiles helplessly, feeling the nerves from earlier disappear like melting snow. It’s good to be home.

 

 

 

It’s not good to be home at all. Yuuri takes back all the nice things he ever said about his family. He loves his parents dearly and his sister is occasionally helpful, but they’re all the worst slave drivers in the whole world. Ever since he got back, he’s not had a single moment of rest. Considering how much his help is needed all around the hot springs, he has to wonder how they’ve survived the past five years without him there. Maybe Mari’s slacking off by pushing all her work on Yuuri, instead. He wouldn’t put it past her.

He manages to sneak out one early morning in late March, hurrying out of the house before anyone can call for his help or send him on yet another errand. While he loves his family, he misses his free time and skating too much.

Setting off at a fast-paced jog, Yuuri takes the familiar route towards Ice Castle. Hopefully there’ll be no one skating when he gets there, and he’ll be able to have the rink for himself. He’s been practicing when he can, but he’s still having no luck with finding a new coach, something he tries to avoid mentioning whenever Phichit calls.

He’s in luck – no one’s at the rink, leaving him the lone occupant, besides a cheerful Yuuko who greets him with a happy shout and a hug so tight he thinks he’ll be feeling it for the next month. Yuuko – “Call me Yuu-chan!” – insists that he doesn’t have to pay, _what are you even talking about_ , and waves him off, returning to sorting the rental skates at the front desk.

Yuuri is glad for his own luck, with the friends he has. They might not be numerous, but they’re true and treasured. All of his friends know him and accept him, don’t push or pull, just take him as he is. He truly is blessed.

As he warms up and stretches, he thinks back on all the times his family and friends were there to support him, despite his own reluctance to be supported. The gratitude he feels contributes to a certain atmosphere that’s less suited to his typical, unplanned and frenzied skating routines. It calls for something softer, almost yearning. Without thinking, he finds himself tracing the footwork for a routine he knows by heart, for all the times he’s practiced it while alone at night. Ever since the GPF, he’s found a guilty pleasure in this very routine, feeling almost like a thief for skating it while its owner remains unaware.

He can hear the music and lyrics of _Stammi Vicino_ clear in his head, louder and more solid than the whispers he’s known for years. It’s almost as if the song is playing, though he knows the rink is silent aside from the swish of his skates.

Yuuri loses himself in the movement and flying, gliding across the ice as easily as ever. There is no audience, so there’s no need to perform, no need to flaunt or think of technicalities. Each movement comes easily and he thinks this might be his best performance yet, unwitnessed as it is. Maybe the time he’s spent away from the ice contributes to the emotions that fill him and flow out through his hands and his feet, gliding, jumping, flying on the ice, creating music that only he can hear, painting artwork on the smooth surface under his skates. It reminds him all over again why he loves skating.

This is freedom. This is flight.

When he reaches the final pose, arms twisting as if to hug the feeling close to himself and keep it from leaving, sweat beading at his brow, he exhales sharply panting from both the exercise and the joy of skating again after so long without. _This_ is why he keeps skating, despite the competitions and the pressure and the expectations. He’s glad that he can still feel it, that it hasn’t been lost to time or the stress of competing.

With a last, heavy breath out, he lowers his arms, pushing off to skate back to the side of the rink for his towel and the water bottle he keeps there. He should probably head back soon, before his absence is noticed. The itch under his skin is quiet once more, pacified by the small offering of ice and flight.

Yuuri locates his glasses resting inside his shoes, abandoned on the side of the rink and adjusts them while wiping off the sweat from his forehead. There’s a chill that’s slowly becoming more apparent as the sweat cools down on his skin, but there’s something in the air beyond that, a coldness of spirit rather than something physical.

A door slams somewhere nearby, and he automatically glances up towards the entrance to the rink. There’s no one there, but the cold feeling doesn’t dissipate. It shivers down his whole body like a premonition of something to come, and he can’t help but feel unnerved by it.

Shrugging his coat on, Yuuri pushes his feet back into his shoes, grabbing his bag and stuffing his skates in it. He hurries out of the Ice Castle and refuses to think of it as fleeing, though the feeling follows him like a shadow stitched to his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuuri!” his mother greets him at the door, wide eyed and startled, looking as if she’s seen a ghost. Yuuri is startled in return, confused for all of ten seconds before he understands.

“Mom – I’m so sorry, I didn’t think – I was just at the Ice Castle, I wanted to skate,” he quickly explains, stumbling over the words in his haste to reassure his mother.

Hiroko Katsuki lifts her hands to discreetly wipe at her eyes behind her glasses, causing Yuuri to grimace. He made his mother cry. Can’t he go one day without being an epic social failure to his family or friends? Apparently, the answer is no.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I was just looking for you,” the plump woman answers him, smiling brightly once more. “Can you go clean up the outer baths? Someone snuck a bottle of sake to the springs and dropped it, so there’s glass shards all over the stonework. We’ve closed off the area for now, so no guests can get in there, but it should be cleaned up as quickly as possible.”

“Sure,” Yuuri replies and stops taking off his jacket in favor of refastening it, instead. The hot springs are rarely cold, but there’s still a nip in the air and since he won’t be soaking in the warm water, he might as well keep his jacket on.

“Thank you, sweetie – be careful not to get hurt by the glass,” Hiroko reminds him, patting his cheek and smiling far too tenderly for such an everyday action.

Yuuri manages a semblance of a smile in return, still feeling guilty over the worry he had inadvertently caused and hurries to gather up the hoover, the dustpan and some gloves to bring with him to the outside onsen.

It takes him over two hours to make sure there are no more glass shards anywhere. The sake bottle – an inexpensive brand they don’t even serve at their hot springs, probably store bought – really had caused a mess, either falling from a remarkable height or smashed against the floor by someone. Either is possible, really, considering some of the guests they occasionally have. They mean well, but one handful of fingers isn’t enough to count all the rowdy drunks Yuuri knows of among their regular customers.

After eating – his mother made her famous katsudon for him, as some weird form of an apology for crying and thanks for the cleaning, like he didn’t feel guilty enough already – and heading to his room, all he wants is to burrow in his bed and go to sleep already, but the world has different ideas.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry!” Yuuko’s voice greets him over the phone as soon as he picks it up blearily.

“Huh?” is the most he can offer in return.

“Gods, I’m so sorry – I had no idea the triplets were at the rink, or I would’ve kept a better eye on them! I swear I didn’t know!”

“Calm down, Yuu-chan,” Yuuri says, trying to understand what’s going on through the foreboding feeling sinking in his stomach. “Is Nishigori there?”

“Yes- yes, I’ll switch over to Takeshi. I’m so so sorry, Yuuri!” Yuuko wails, before the sounds of the phone changing hands fill the line.

“Yuuri? We’re really sorry, but I think you got that from Yuuko already,” Nishigori says hurriedly.

“I have no idea what you’re being sorry about, but I’m sure whatever it is I’ll forgive you,” Yuuri assures, sure that his confusion carries over in his voice.

“The triplets – I was supposed to be watching them, but I had to run to the store. They got in the rink and filmed your skating earlier today. We didn’t even find out until Yuuko got an e-mail about the comments on the video. I’m so sorry, Yuuri – they posted it online, and it seems to have gone viral.”

“…”

Yuuri tries to process the news. His solitary skating routine was, apparently, not as solitary as he had thought. And it’s plastered all over the internet, with who knows how many views and probably growing by the minute. Well.

“…It’s fine, Nishigori. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, and the triplets probably didn’t mean anything bad by it, either. Tell Yuuko it’s fine, won’t you? I’m sure it’ll blow over soon.”

It better blow over soon. Yuuri doesn’t like attention. Stammi Vicino is Victor’s routine, not his, and he had stolen it without so much as a mention. Hopefully, Victor won’t see the video, unlikely as that is. Maybe he won’t watch it even if someone links him to it? That’s his best hope, probably.

It’s pointless to worry about it, anyway. He says goodnight to Nishigori, who seems distracted by the sounds of Yuuko yelling at the triplets in the background, and flops back on his bed after tossing his phone to the floor.

“What’s up with that video? The retweets are through the roof!”

The loud screech and his door banging open with enough force to hit the wall are the signs of Minako’s entrance into his room. Yuuri treats this with all the attention it deserves – which is none. He burrows deeper under the blankets and groans out loud. Looks like he won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

 

April brings with it an unseasonal nip in the air. Yuuri wakes up early, shivering from the cold air of his room, his blankets discarded on the floor at some point during the night.

“Yuuri! Can you go shovel the snow? Are you awake yet?” his mother’s voice calls through the door, prompting him to sit up with a yawn.

“Snow?” Yuuri mutters, before calling out a muffled okay for the benefit of his mother. He pulls back the curtains blocking the sun from bothering his sleep and is surprised at the scenery. There really is snow, and not just some – it’s a scene more akin to mid-winter than early April, with blankets of white fluff covering everything and even more of the same stuff falling as he stares. It looks like a picture from a children’s book. It reminds him of another April with unseasonal snow.

He shivers from something other than the cold.

Forcefully pushing the thought away, Yuuri climbs out of his bed and gets dressed hurriedly. The snow won’t clear itself anytime soon, especially with the heavy snowfall outside. It might do little good to shovel it away when it’ll just pile up again shortly, but he can at least try to clear a path for the customers.

Shoveling snow is taxing, sweaty work, but it feels good to do something physically exhausting, even if it’s upper- rather than the usual lower-body exercise. His training has been taking the back seat ever since he got back home, considering how busy his family keeps him. Then again, running around helping with the business is a sort of workout as well.

Heaving a sigh, he takes the snow shovel back to the shed and heads inside, shaking snow from his hair and stomping to get it off his shoes. His phone beeps with a notification as he’s removing his jacket, and he pulls it out of the pocket to glance at it. It’s a message from Chris, which is strange considering that they haven’t talked in a long while and from his Instagram the skater appears to be busy with training and.. some other things.

He taps open the message, but it only serves to confuse him further.

“Hi, Yuuri!” the text reads, with several winking and smooching emotes to accompany the text, “thought I’d warn you that I was speaking with a certain someone, and they might have gotten a bit impulsive when I mentioned that you still haven’t found a coach. You haven’t found one yet, right? Hope not, or he’s going to be pretty disappointed. Oh well. I miss your cute expressions and voice, facetime with me sometime! Don’t be a stranger, mm?”

Yuuri feels his face heat with the force of his blush as he reads. By the time he reaches the end and the expected selfie of Chris making kissy faces at the camera, he’s ready to dig a tunnel and hide in it for the next few weeks. Chris has no filter, obviously, and he probably derives some twisted pleasure out of flustering Yuuri. His message makes no sense, anyway, aside from the flirting and other typical Chris-ness.

His confusion is interrupted by a sudden force that sends him sprawling face first on the floor. Blinking in confusion and still clutching at his phone, thankfully undropped, Yuuri twists his neck to glance behind himself, but the view explains little. There’s a huge dog sitting on his back. It looks like a fluffy pony, meaning that it’s probably a poodle, and it appears to be feeling very proud of itself if the way it’s happily panting at him means anything.

“Um.. hello?” he hesitantly greets the dog sitting on him. He’s never been very good with animals. Most of them tend to avoid him, for some reason, preferring to keep their distance. This is the closest he’s ever been to a dog, from what he can remember.

The poodle shares none of his worries, simply barking happily at his voice and proceeding to lick at whatever parts it can reach of his face as he laughs and tries to hide from the impromptu bath.

“Isn’t she cute?” the voice of Yuuri’s father cheerily asks from somewhere above. The poodle perks up and abandons Yuuri in favor of going to beg for food from his father, who seems to be in the process of taking some food and drinks to one of their guests.

“She is, but where did she come from? I didn’t know we had any guests with pets.”

“She came with a good-looking foreigner earlier this morning. You were probably still sleeping,” Toshiya Katsuki explains. “He was asking about you, actually. Maybe he’s also a skater?”

Yuuri feels that feeling of premonition once more, all of the sudden. It feels exactly like it had felt at the rink back in March, and time hasn’t made it any more pleasant than before. He wonders if Chris’ message is related to the turn of events. A fellow skater, someone Chris knows well, a foreigner who’d show up at their hot springs, someone who has a dog.

A face and a name pop in his mind, but he refuses to consider the possibility.

“If the dog is here, where’s the owner?” Yuuri asks in a high-pitched voice that he doesn’t recognize.

“I think he went to soak in the springs,” Toshiya responds while trying to get the poodle to sit for a treat, one hand holding the tray of food precariously.

Yuuri leaves his father to pamper the dog and hurries through the inn towards the baths. The inner baths provide no obvious foreigners, so he heads for the outside. In his hurry, he opens the door with more force than he intended, making it bang loudly against the frame.

The possibility he refused to consider appears to be correct, after all.

“Victor – what are you doing here?” is all that he can get out, stuttering and confused.

“Yuuri!” the silver haired man sitting in the baths says, much too cheerfully for the circumstances. He stands up and okay, that’s _way_ more naked man than Yuuri has seen ever before. Even the flimsy, small towel provided with the baths does little to hide any of the skin glistening with moisture on plain display. Yuuri idly wonders if he’s still asleep in his bed, about to wake up from a ridiculously embarrassing dream of a naked Victor Nikiforov in his home.

“Starting today, I’m going to be your coach! I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Finals!” the living legend informs him without a pause, not even trying to cover anything up. Then he winks, and Yuuri can feel all common sense and reality fly off with the flurry of snowflakes that sweeps through the space between them.

Yuuri stares at the silver haired naked man. The naked man stares back and continues to smile, not giving up an inch. Yuuri stares some more. Victor is still smiling, staring and very naked.

“Right. First, I think you ought to either get back in the bath or get properly out and dressed. I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” Yuuri says after a long silence that mostly consists of staring and naked men and lack of any comprehensive thoughts beyond “!!!!” or “uh.”

Victor seems oddly disappointed by his reply, but complies by wading through the water towards Yuuri, prompting the younger skater to squeak and flush. He quickly turns away from the view and hurries back inside, assuming that the older man will be able to find Yuuri once he’s properly dressed, out of the bathing area and, most importantly, no longer naked.

 

* * *

 

 

Victor isn’t like Yuuri expected. Even though he’s met the other skater before, has even talked with him (and apparently danced with him, danced _against_ his rink mate, _and_ stripped in front of him), there’s not much he actually knows about the living legend, beyond what little morsels of information his ridiculously lengthy Wikipedia page offers.

The silver haired man is insensitive and pushy, has no filter nor any idea of a thing called personal space, and Yuuri couldn’t be happier with the chance to learn all these things about him. Somehow, even when Victor’s so close they’re practically breathing the same air, even when he’s being invasive with his questions or cruel with his oblivious and cutting comments, there’s just something about the older man that Yuuri can’t help but covet. He wants to learn more, wants to get to know the Victor behind the smiles and winks he throws around like breadcrumbs.

The desire to get to know each other is a shared one, apparently. Victor is constantly pushing against Yuuri’s boundaries, trying to get him to share his thoughts, his feelings, his past and his bed. Yuuri makes some effort on the first, firmly avoids all attempts at the second, tells what little he can of the third, and completely, utterly, flat-out refuses the fourth. Victor shares little of himself, despite his apparent openness. He guards all of his secrets closely, but Yuuri doesn’t mind too much.

He’ll get there eventually. It might be slow, but he’s learning new things about his coach every day. Small things like the way he knows how to use chopsticks despite his nationality and can’t stay awake too late unless he’s drinking. The way he likes to sleep curled around Makkachin – the poodle who actually seems to like Yuuri for some reason – and the way he eats the things he likes the best first and is surprisingly picky about things he doesn’t like. Bigger things, like the way he hides everything negative away from others, as if afraid to show any sign of being less than perfect.

There’s a lot Victor hides, really. Yuuri can tell when he’s upset, but the older man hides it behind a smile and good cheer. Any barbed comments he delivers are never out of anger, but rather to provoke a specific sort of reaction from Yuuri. He delivers both compliments and critique in abundance, the same way he does everything. Victor doesn’t do things by measures. It’s like he only knows how to go all out, never learned the value of smaller gestures, can only deliver the big ones.

But Yuuri thinks that Victor is also learning. As the days pass, he becomes less pushy about Yuuri’s personal boundaries. Victor still invades his personal space on daily basis, but the suggestive gestures and flirty comments are more toned down and almost fond. He’s less forcedly cheerful, more naturally content. It makes Yuuri feel good, like he’s actually giving something rather than just taking and taking in their unconventional relationship of a coach and his student.

It’s only been two weeks since Victor arrived, bringing cold air, snow and life with him, but it feels much longer. His barbs are less sharp and his comments less biting. His personality and presence are as big as ever, but he’s no longer pushing and flaring them around like a cloak to hide behind. Yuuri finds that he likes this Victor more. He also finds that the older man is still full of contradictions.

Victor’s prickly side seems to be reserved mostly for Yuuri, for some reason. He’s unfailingly polite to everyone else. Likewise, all the issues of personal space disappear when it comes to other people. Yuuri doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know how to react and what to think about it. He only knows that he – strangely – likes it. He doesn’t know what that means, either.

On the third week After Victor arrived (and Yuuri wonders if he’ll always think of time as before and after Victor barged into his life like a whirlwind of enthusiasm), they’re walking around the town taking a break from training. It’s the weekend, and the weather is finally starting to warm up to something resembling spring. Victor is in a rare mood, contemplative and calm, seemingly content to walk around aimlessly in silence. He spots a vending machine and points it out to Yuuri, who smiles at his interest.

“I’m sure Russia has vending machines, too. Though I suppose Japan probably has a bigger variety. That one there serves hot drinks during the winter and cold ones in the summer, I think,” Yuuri explains.

Victor declares that vending machines in Japan are amazing and drags Yuuri towards it for a closer inspection. The younger man sighs, but allows himself to be manhandled with good nature. He’s getting used to this sort of thing and he doesn’t really mind, to be honest.

An elderly woman opens the door of the dagashiya next to the vending machine, coming out with a broom to sweep up the front of the store. Yuuri quickly attempts to look occupied with his phone, taking a few steps to put some distance between himself and the store. Victor doesn’t even notice, still completely focused on the supremely interesting Japanese vending machine and the selection it offers.

“You shouldn’t get too close to that boy,” the old woman advices Victor under her breath, sweeping the ground furiously with her battered broomstick. Yuuri pretends he can’t hear the words, focusing instead on trying to appear too busy with his phone to notice. Victor – kind, polite Victor – tilts his head in confusion from where he’s still perusing the selection of hot drinks.

“Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t get too close to that boy,” the elderly lady repeats, blatantly poking her spindly finger towards Yuuri. “They may call him the Miracle Child and other rot, but we all know he’s not the same boy we lost. Who knows what he is, but that thing is not the Katsuki Yuuri that I watched play around as a child.”

“Grandma, you know better than to talk about that stuff,” a voice scolds from inside the small store, the young granddaughter of the old woman hurrying outside to bow and apologize repeatedly to a confused looking Victor. When Victor just continues to look bewildered, the younger woman ushers the older one back inside the store, offering one more apologetic smile at the Russian before disappearing inside, following her grandmother.

Grandma Saito, as people tend to call the elderly owner of the traditional dagashiya by the corner, was one of the people who took Yuuri’s disappearance especially hard. Yuuri doesn’t really remember that much of his childhood, but according to his mother, Grandma Saito used to take care of him sometimes when his parents were too busy with taking care of the hot springs. The elderly lady was very fond of the young boy and the young boy was very fond of the sweets she sold, as Mari used to say with a hint of mockery.

Grandma Saito is one of the few fluent English speakers in Hasetsu, mostly because her husband was a half-Japanese man who worked for an international company as a translator. Her husband passed away several years ago, during Yuuri’s absence, and the old woman never fully recovered. Yuuri thinks she might even blame the death on him, through some convoluted logic that he can’t follow but also can’t fully deny. After all, who knows where he was and what he did for those eight years? Even if old man Saito passed away from an illness, perhaps Yuuri somehow brought the disease on the house with his disappearance.

Victor is staring at the closed door of the dagashiya with a complicated expression and brows drawn tight.

“It’s alright,” Yuuri offers, finally stopping his pretense of browsing Instagram on his phone. “It was all over the news for a long while and some people still like to talk about it. You’d probably have found out about the whole thing eventually, anyway. You can ask.”

Victor doesn’t look happy with the permission.

“I’d rather wait until you want to tell me,” he replies quietly, looking expectant but accepting.

Yuuri blinks in surprise. It’s somehow unexpected, even though he’s coming to know Victor and really should’ve known the Russian wouldn’t push, not when it matters. For all that he invades Yuuri’s personal space on a daily basis, he also knows the borders of what Yuuri will be comfortable with, perhaps even better than Yuuri himself. Victor knows that most of them are emotional and mental, rather than physical. He won’t force Yuuri to talk about anything he doesn’t want to talk about – he’ll just wait and listen, until Yuuri opens up from his own will.

It’s enough to make Yuuri wonder how Victor had learned to be that way, what taught him to step back and offer everything but never, ever take.

“I did want to tell you,” Yuuri assures his coach with a smile. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. Around here, everybody already knows the story. Most don’t talk about it where me or my family can hear, though. It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” – it does, but not in the way people think – “it happened a long time ago.”

Victor is looking at him, steady and reassuring, not speaking, just silently waiting for him to continue.

“It’s a rather short story, when it comes down to it,” Yuuri sighs after a moment of collecting his thoughts. “Back when I was ten, I disappeared. I was playing out in the yard, it was snowing and I was trying to catch the snowflakes with my mouth.”

Victor’s eyes widen slightly, probably making the connection between that blurted compliment from the banquet and the story. Yuuri starts walking again, prompting his coach to abandon the forgotten vending machine in favor of keeping up.

“There’s really not much to tell,” Yuuri continues. “Eight years later, they found me in the Ice Castle, on the ice. I don’t really remember anything of those years, so it makes for a rather boring story, I imagine. Of course that didn’t stop the news from talking about it and giving me all sorts of nicknames in the papers.”

“Why did she.. say what she did? If you want to tell,” Victor asks, after a moment of silence. Yuuri smiles at him, not minding the question. He’s gotten used to the way some people talk about him, Grandma Saito is just one among the many.

“Some people think that I’m a bad omen. You know the stories about changelings and such, right? I imagine it’s something like that.”

“Hmm,” is all Victor replies with, deep in thought.

They continue to walk in silence for several minutes, just enjoying the crisp air and the companionable quiet, until Victor nods decisively and straightens his posture.

“Well, changeling or not, to me you’re Katsuki Yuuri, my adorable student from Japan. I don’t care what they call you, this is the only you I’ve known. Easily embarrassed, shy with a cute blush – like that, that’s the colour – stubborn and competitive, with more hidden depths than I could ever uncover.”

Yuuri realizes they’ve stopped walking. He’s gaping at Victor, probably quite unattractively, but he can’t stop himself from doing it. It’s too much. It’s _too much_.

“How can you say stuff like that without getting embarrassed?” is what he manages to squeak out after several long moments spent opening and closing his mouth.

“What’s there to get embarrassed about?” Victor counters shamelessly, cheerfully slinging an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders to drag him into resuming their walk.

What, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is jogging to the rink, late for practice and cursing a storm inside his head for missing the alarm he’d set. He hopes Victor won’t do that terrifying smile thing he does when he’s annoyed or mad, because he knows that it’s always followed by an even more grueling practice than usual. If Victor is in bad mood, Yuuri will be limping back home with bruised feet and ego and no strength to even eat. He might not even make it to his bed to sleep, if he’s late enough.

Finally catching sight of Ice Castle, he puts on a sprint and ignores the crowds of people gathering around the entrance, breathing a sigh of relief as he slams against the closed doors. He’s sweaty and panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. The triplets are holding back what appears to be members of the press and some random passers-by, probably here to gawk at Victor. It’s not an unusual sight, not since Victor unintentionally (or intentionally, because there’s no way to tell when it’s Victor) shared his location via an Instagram post.

“Finally – made – it – is – Victor – inside – already?” he pants towards the triplets, trying to remember which one is which. He knows they sometimes swap their hairstyles just to mess with people who try to call them by their names. The triplets, for some odd reason, look at him with mild horror and trepidation, gesturing furiously at a young.. boy? in a hood, who’s back is turned towards him. The teenager appears to be shaking. For a second, Yuuri wonders if he’s crying or laughing, then he has no time to wonder at all, because he’s greeting the floor and the rink wall.

Yuuri dazedly recalls his first meeting with Makkachin and wonders if the boy is somehow related to the dog, then wonders if he has a concussion because that makes no sense at all. Even if he doesn’t quite know why it doesn’t make sense.

He manages to roll on his back, staring at the ceiling above him, until it’s obstructed by a glaring blonde who looks ready to murder him. Strange, since Yuuri doesn’t remember doing anything to this kid. Does he know him? There’s something familiar about him. If he had longer hair and a more relaxed pose, Yuuri thinks he might recognize him. Which makes no sense, because Yuuri can count all the blonde people he knows with the fingers of one hand, and none of them have long hair. The people, not the fingers. Or maybe the fingers, too.

The blonde, angry kid says something that Yuuri can’t make out through the ringing of his ears. The teen rebel seems annoyed, but then his face disappears along with Yuuri’s vision and there’s a foot on his face.

Correction, there’s a foot on his forehead.

Yuuri’s mother could tell anyone that Yuuri has never liked having his forehead touched. Even though he was a mild, polite child, if someone tried to touch his forehead, even if it was just to ruffle his hair, he’d slap their hand away and go hide under his bed or inside a closet. There’s been no need to ascertain the accuracy of the story, because no one has tried to poke his forehead for as long as he can remember.

It’s true, though. The story is now confirmed.

The pain and pressure of the foot grinding down on his face is something beyond physical, and somehow it’s made all the worse by the knowledge that it’s a foot. And his forehead. A foot on his forehead. And that makes as little sense as everything else, right now, because Yuuri can hear himself make an odd sound, his vision wavering even further, obscuring even the bottom of the shoe he could make out before.

He feels.. strange. Chasing the oddity and escaping from the physical-mental-spiritual pain (crippling agony, his head is splintering apart, his mind is on fire and his thoughts are dribbling out of his skull like it’s an egg that’s been cruelly dropped and cracked, left to rot, forgotten) seems like the best idea, right now.

He can hear a commotion, and the foot on his forehead is gone, but the damage is already done.

Someone is calling his name and yelling at someone. Are they yelling at him? Yuuri can’t understand the words, the sounds just insignificant noise that’s strung together and forms a nothing. There’s a feeling of something – physical? mental? spiritual? – and he’s floating, which is good because it’s similar to flying. He likes flying.

Someone is murmuring close to his ear, brushing at his hair. They sound worried. Yuuri should probably try to say something, but he can’t focus on anything, can’t see anything but blurred shapes and colours.

It’s probably for the best, anyway, because he’s on fire and he doesn’t want anyone else to burn with him. He floats away on the colours and the shapes and blurs with them until he’s nothing, just like them.

It feels good. There’s no pain in nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I promised myself that I'd write a longer chapter this time (behold, it's longer than the previous two put together and doubled~!), but it was rather taxing. I think I write better in short chunks, but what can you do.
> 
> A few notes of importance here;
> 
> Yuuri was away when he would've developed his crush on Victor, and thus never saw or collected posters of his idol and is unaware of Makkachin beyond the fact that he has a dog. There's no Vicchan here. I'm sure he was happily adopted by someone else, the cute little fluffball.
> 
> If the end confuses you, it's meant to be confusing. If it confuses you TOO much - a.k.a. you're not familiar enough with Twelve Kingdoms lore to understand what in the world is going on - you can shoot me a message (on Tumblr, for example), and I'll endeavor to explain, but it should be cleared up soon enough anyway in the story.
> 
> It's a bit choppy, this chapter, but I hope you like it anyway. It was fun to write all the different characters and scenes, though I don't think I did a very good job with the characterization (it's hard~).
> 
> ..Yurio sure can kickstart stuff, eh? Pun fully and unapologetically intended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's more than the sum of his memories.

When Yuuri was 10, he disappeared from the family onsen on a cold April evening. When he was 18, he was found sitting on the blank surface of the ice at a nearby skating rink. There is nothing but darkness, an empty yawning _nothing_ , in-between.

When Yuuri was 10, he vanished from the family onsen on a cold April evening. When he was 18, he was found sitting on the blank surface of the ice at a nearby skating rink. There are eight years of memories, of laughter and loss, an infinite time stretching years larger than their width, in-between.

There are two halves to him, split apart by both time and space.

While Yuuri’s body fights against the fever, his mind is desperately trying to piece together the two, both halves eroded and polished by time, no longer fitting and overlapping the way they should, the way they once did. Neither is less than the other, and both are more than he can take.

He wonders, deliriously, if it’d be easier to just forget anew. To leave it all behind and not think of it again, to forget half of himself and leave it to its fate.

He can’t do that, though.

Even if there is loss, pain and tears in there, there are also countless moments of joy, happiness and belonging. There are things, _people_ , he can’t allow himself to forget. Not again. It’s not only cruel to them all, they deserve more.

Yuuri wonders if suddenly having eight years’ worth of new-old memories is similar to recovering from an amnesia. There is no tripping down a memory lane, no flashbacks or dreams or lengthy visions. One moment, there was a huge nothing in his mind, threatening to swallow the rest of it within. The next, there is a smooth sweep of memories, flowing easily without breaking.

The memories are there, for better or for worse. There is no going back.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri was 10, he left the world he was born in for another, a world that was supposed to be the first thing he saw, the place to first welcome him to life. He’d later learn of the similarities between the circumstances of himself and another black-haired boy, who was once sheltered by the same tree as him.

 

* * *

 

 

The fever ebbs by the next morning, leaving Yuuri aching and thirsty but clear-minded for the first time in years. He remembers everything, even if the pieces of himself aren’t aligned quite right just yet. He knows that they’ll settle eventually, and he’ll settle with them, into something both old and new, but most importantly, something _solid_.

When he drifts back into consciousness, Victor is there, by his side. He can’t muster up any embarrassment over the fact that he’d apparently finally granted the Russian man’s wish of sleeping with him, even if they’re not sharing the bed. For the most part, anyway, since Victor’s upper body is stretched over the side of his narrow mattress. He must have fallen asleep at some point into his vigil.

Yuuri feels like there’s a desert’s worth of sand in his throat. He could really use a drink, right about now.

He must make some noise as he thinks that, because Victor startles awake with a jolt that makes his whole body ache in sympathy. The older man lets out a quiet curse and rubs at the back of his neck, which is probably protesting the sudden movement after a long night spent at an awkward angle.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaims, having finally noticed his awake state. “Are you alright? How are you feeling? You should have told me if you were feeling under the weather, practice can wait – it’s important to take care of yourself!”

Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, but then thinks better of it. What can he say, anyway? “I wasn’t feeling under the weather until someone stepped on my forehead” doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in his mental state. He’s not sure he wants to broach the topic of his returned eight years just yet, even if he does eventually intend to tell Victor. Which is also surprising, because apparently he’s already decided that he will at some point tell the man everything.

“ _Taiho_ ,” a quiet voice states warmly within his mind, echoed by several more. There are no more whispers; the need for prudence is gone. He doesn’t reply, for now, opting to wait for a moment when he’s alone.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, already looking more concerned, reaching to touch his forehead.

Yuuri jerks away from the hand without thinking, then cringes. Victor stills, then retracts his hand quickly, something almost like hurt flashing across his eyes, too fast to process. It’s gone before Yuuri can really register it, Victor’s face smoothly adopting his usual, cheery expression.

“I’ll go tell your mother you’re awake – everyone’s been really worried about you, collapsing like that,” Victor informs him, getting up from his slouch by the bed, stretching as he heads for the door.

Yuuri wants to apologize, but he can’t find the right words to explain. He watches in silence as Victor leaves the room.

“Shinri,” Yuuri acknowledges the first voice within his mind at long last. “Why didn’t you talk to me before now?”

“ _You were blocking us, Taiho_ ,” the voice, Shinri, replies, her soothing voice sounding a curious mix of sadness and joy. “ _Even if you could hear us, your state was very fragile. We could not risk unbalancing you further._ ”

“Is- did Lady Senran-“ he can’t force the rest of the sentence out of his mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Shinri’s voice replies quietly, mournfully, understanding without words what he’s asking.

Yuuri closes his eyes against the threatening tears.

Because of his missing memories, this is the first time he can actually acknowledge his loss. Poor, naïve Senran – she was much too young for the responsibility thrust on her shoulders. Even if there was no choice, even if Yuuri was compelled to choose her, she wasn’t ready. She may have eventually become ready, given enough time to grow with Yuuri by her side, but the world had refused to grant them that time.

Cut down mere months into her rule, hunted down like an animal by a misguided rebellion. For all that he is supposed to be virtuous and forgiving, Yuuri finds himself wishing that the people of Kou came to regret their actions. It’s been several years, now. He has no idea of the state the kingdom is in, but it can’t be good.

By all logic, he should return. Kou needs him, needs him to choose a new king and bring peace and prosperity back to the lands ravaged by poverty and demons.

He doesn’t want to.

“Shinri,” Yuuri starts, hesitating whether to ask. “If I – If I don’t return. If I stay here, will you still follow me?”

There is a silence, following his question. Just as Yuuri is starting to regret asking, opening his mouth to take back his words, the reply comes.

“ _We serve the Taiho, whatever his choice. We defer to your will_.”

His sigh is one of relief.

“Thank you, Shinri. Everyone... thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shinri was the first thing he saw, when he crossed over. She was the one who pulled him from this world to the other, plucked him from Hourai – Japan – and brought him to Mt. Hou. Hers was the first embrace he knew in his new world, and it was one he would come to rely on through the following years.

Shinri wasn’t a person. Or rather, she wasn’t human. By all rights, Yuuri should have been terrified of her. Her eyes were those of an animal, reflecting light oddly, lacking any sign of the sclera; her head was human, but her lower body was that of a deer or a goat, with patches of scales covering her sides and her arms, which extended into beast like claws. Behind her, there was the long stretch of some kind of a reptilian tail and on the small of her back there were twin protrusions in the form of two small, furry wings, topped by a chitinous film. She wasn’t like anything Yuuri had ever seen, but she was warm and felt like _home_.

“Kouki,” she cried, repeating the word as she clutched him close to her, tears falling from her eyes like rain. “Kouki, Kouki, Kouki.”

Yuuri tried to turn his head to get a better look at her face while sheltered in her embrace, but it was impossible to find any wriggle room in her tight hold.

“There now, Shinri. There is no need to cry any longer. Kouki is returned to us,” a calm, slightly chiding voice sounded from somewhere behind the creature holding Yuuri in her arms.

“Genkun,” Shinri replied, loosening her hold and allowing Yuuri enough space to get a better look at his surroundings.

The speaker from before – Genkun? – was smiling at them, belying her admonishing words. Yuuri didn’t know much about what constituted pretty or not, but he thought she would’ve been considered pretty, even by his limited knowledge.

“Kouki, my name is Gyokuyo. I am pleased to see you returned to Hohzan,” the pretty lady told him, kneeling to address him.

“Gyokuyo? Not Genkun?” Yuuri asked curiously.

“She is to be called Lady Gyokuyo, Kouki. She is the Genkun, the leader of the sages who serve at Mount Hou”, the beast-lady, Shinri, explained to him while carding her unexpectedly gentle fingers through his hair.

“Where is Mount Hou? I was at home just before.”

Yuuri was rather confused by everything, even while he accepted the explanations with the ease born from childish faith in the words of adults.

“Hohzan, also known as the Mountain of the Sage’s Brush, is your home, Kouki. You were born here, on these ridges bordering the Yellow Sea. We have searched for you for many years,” Lady Gyokuyo told Yuuri, while drawing the symbols for Mount Hou, 蓬山, on the ground in front of him.

“Why do you keep calling me Kouki? My name is Yuuri,” Yuuri informed her, scrunching his face in confusion.

“Kouki is who you are. It’s the name you were born to. Over There, you have a different name, but here you will be known as Kouki, the kirin of Kou.”

Yuuri didn’t really understand much, but Shinri’s arms were warm around him and everyone was being nice and trying to explain things, so he wasn’t too upset about it. He took a longer glance around himself, spending a few moments looking at the massive, pure white tree. While not particularly tall, its tightly woven branches stretched wide and far; the clear, unpolluted sky spreading over their heads and the twisting green slope of the mountain surrounding him. There were other women, both young and old, stood further away from the three of them, as if in waiting.

There was a slight shuffling noise behind him, so Yuuri twisted around and found yet another pretty lady stood there, this one with long, golden hair.

“This is the Taiho of Ren,” Lady Gyokuyo explained before he could ask. “She lent her help to allow us to fetch you. You must thank her, Kouki.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri obediently echoed back at the woman with the golden hair. She smiled at him, then picked up a weird two-tailed snake from the ground, which twisted around her arm before settling into a bracelet. She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, then walked away from them, headed towards the larger group of women further away.

“The lamia, Haku Shinri, will take care of you. Ask her if you have any questions, follow her advice when she gives it, and you will find yourself well cared for,” Lady Gyokuyo continued, turning Yuuri’s face back from following the silhouette of the golden-haired lady.

Yuuri stared at the older woman for a second longer, then looked up at the beast-lady still holding him.

“What’s a kirin?”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri looks up at the knock on his half open door, expecting to find his mother or father standing there. Instead, there’s Victor with a tray of what appears to be a glass of water and some medicine on it. There’s a fidgety, much shorter form following him. Yuuri vaguely recognizes him as the reason for his newly regained memories – the boy who’d stepped on his forehead, back at the rink.

The feeling of agitation from his shirei is almost tangible in its pressure and Yuuri doesn’t even need the low, rumbling growl to know that they’re simply waiting for his word to leap at the unsuspecting teen.

“No, Ginsaku,” is all he breathes out under his breath, not daring to speak more. Luckily, it goes unnoticed by the two entering the room, and Ginsaku’s agitation subsides into a reluctantly obedient acceptance.

“Your mother went to get more cold medicine, and your father is busy with customers so they’ll stop by a bit later,” Victor informs Yuuri cheerily. “This is one of my old rink mates. I think you two might have met before?”

Yuuri squints at them both, finally giving up and looking around to locate his glasses. Victor immediately realizes what he’s looking for and hurries over to pick the blue frames up from the nightstand, placing the tray on it in their stead. He hands Yuuri the glasses with a soft smile, and the younger man can’t help smiling back, relieved that the earlier unintentional snub is apparently forgiven and forgotten.

There’s a clearing of a throat and Yuuri startles, looking towards the third person in the room. The blonde boy from before looks like he’s desperately biting back words, hunched defensively with a disgruntled expression on his face. There’s way too much leopard pattern going on in his attire, but Yuuri’s never been one for fashion so he can’t say if this is what the current “in” trends look like.

Yuuri vaguely recognizes him, recalling the photos from the disastrous banquet. This is the kid with the same name as him, Yuri… Yuri something. He can’t remember his last name, since Russian names are confusing on the best of days.

“Hello,” he greets the blonde hesitantly. The younger boy tsks and looks annoyed, but settles again with a reprimanding “Yura” from Victor.

“If I knew you were going to faint like some blushing maiden, I would’ve held back with that kick,” the kid – Yuri – bites out, then looks like he’s struggling to continue for a bit, finally ending with a harsh sounding “Pig.”

Yuuri blinks at him.

“There, I apologized. Now can I go practice?” Yuri all but shouts at Victor, stomping away without even waiting for an answer.

Victor shakes his head with a sigh, but doesn’t stop the kid.

“That was an apology?” Yuuri mutters under his breath, not expecting to be heard but startling a laugh out of Victor anyway.

“Yura takes some getting used to, but he means well. Most of the time. Just think of him as an angry kitten, and you’ll get along fine,” Victor informs Yuuri, holding out the glass of water for him.

Yuuri accepts it gratefully and drinks half of it in one go. It’s heaven against his parched throat.

“Victor – about earlier, I’m sorry. You startled me.”

Victor looks surprised that he’s bringing the topic up, but accepts with an easy nod and a small smile that seems somehow more honest than the one it replaces. The Russian reaches out again, giving him plenty of time to move away, but Yuuri forces himself to stay still and tolerate the cold hand that settles on his forehead. It’s not pleasant, and it makes something within him itch furiously, but it’s gentle and cool on his heated skin, quieting the headache he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Hmm, you still feel quite warm,” Victor tuts, furrowing his brows and withdrawing his hand.

“It’s just a cold,” Yuuri reassures him quickly. “I’m sorry about missing practice.”

“It’s fine, your health is more important. We can always fit in some more practice after you’re well,” Victor points out and smiles brighter when Yuuri groans.

“Why is the other Yuri here, anyway?”

The change of topic gives Victor a pause. He’s obviously hesitant on how to word his next sentence, but at Yuuri’s questioning look, sighs and relents.

“Apparently, I forgot a promise I made. I’m sure you know by now that my memory is quite... selective,” Victor explains. “It seems that I told him I’d choreograph his senior debut, so he’s here to make sure I deliver on that.”

Yuuri blinks, surprised.

“Senior debut? Isn’t he a bit young to be debuting in senior class already?”

Victor’s answering smile is fond and exasperated. “Yakov and I keep telling him to take it slower, but he’s always been impatient. Technically, he is over the age limit.”

Yuuri hums thoughtfully. From what he remembers, the younger Yuri has very good technical skills and he’s fully capable of jumping quads, so there’s no real reason why he _shouldn’t_ be in seniors already.

“What are you going to do?” Yuuri asks, considering his coach’s face carefully.

Victor brightens up at the question, immediately setting off alarm bells inside the younger skater’s head.

“That’s the best thing! Yurio – your sister named him that, isn’t it perfect? – came up with the idea of a competition between you two. I’ll choreograph two programs, one for you each, and you’ll skate it out!”

Yuuri frowns. “And what, the winner gets you?”

“Exactly!” Victor happily agrees, flashing a frankly ridiculous (yet somehow endearing) thumbs up at him.

Yuuri doesn’t have to even think about his answer.

“No.”

“You’ll need costumes, obviously, but I’m having my old ones delivered and – what?”

Victor seems so startled at being told no that Yuuri has to hold back his smile, but he persists. He’s learned, by now, that Victor can be selfish and insensitive, but he’s never intentionally cruel without a cause. When he gets caught in some new idea – generally, either something utterly absurd or simply brilliant – the only way to stall him is to remain firm and unmovable.

“No,” he repeats, and allows himself a small smile to placate the older man who’s starting to _pout_ , for heaven’s sake. “This thing, the promise, is between you two. You need to decide for yourself what you want to do about it. I won’t be involved in it, though I will listen if you want to talk.”

Victor’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open in surprise. There are so many emotions flashing across his face, completely open for once, that Yuuri can’t keep up.

“Oh,” Victor breathes out quietly, almost inaudible. He seems to snap back to himself, closing his mouth and smiling so brightly it _hurts_. “Of course. If that’s what you want, Yuuri. I’ll talk about it with Yurio, then!”

“I won’t say no to the costumes, mind you. I’m not sure I could afford a new one, anyway, if I’m going to pay your coaching fee at some point in the future,” Yuuri admits ruefully.

Victor laughs and agrees to let him have his pick of his old costumes. He seems oddly pleased about something, though it takes Yuuri until he’s long gone to look for Yuri- uh, Yurio, to realize the cause.

Yuuri had simply assumed that Victor would be staying to coach Yuuri, whatever his decision on Yurio’s program. There hadn’t been a single thought spent on the idea that Victor would opt to return to Russia with the younger Yuri, despite him being the obvious choice as a protégé in terms of talent and promise.

Yuuri flushes, but feels something warm welling up inside his chest. Victor hadn’t denied it.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is brushing his fingers through the long, black tresses of his hair as he considers the tangled mess of his reflection in the mirror. This is one issue he hadn’t considered. He’s not sure if the cautionary tale of Sairin, told to him by the sages of Mt Hou, was a real story, but he doesn’t fancy ending up the same either way.

The sages liked to tell him that the kirin of Sai, a female kirin as shown by the suffix -rin, was very vain and concerned about looks – enough so, that she requested the sages do up her hair like theirs, with wax and lots of pins. When she forgot about this and transformed into her kirin form, the pins were still there, holding her mane so tight that her neck was bent almost in half. The story goes that she could never hold her neck straight after.

Keeping his hair constantly open is not possible, though. Cutting his hair isn’t really an option, either. Finding a balance between his past and his present is already proving difficult, with the most unexpected of issues, it seems.

In the end, he opts to tie the hair in one of his customary, loose braids. The problem with Sairin, he figures, was the number of pins and the wax, not the tying up itself. The sages had tied up his hair enough times without protest, so it mustn’t have been that big of an issue. Or perhaps the tale is just fiction, after all.

Sighing, Yuuri regards himself in the mirror once more. It’s almost as if he can see two views overlapping in the reflection. It reminds him once more that his body here, the form that he takes is, in the end, just a shell. It’s a shape gifted to him by the Emperor of the Heavens, in an effort to protect the few that end up ripped from the other side and are born Over Here, as taika, or “wombfruit.” It’s not that he dislikes this shape, or the other one – they’re actually fairly similar. It could be worse. He’s heard stories of taika that wound up back on the other side, only to find that their hair was the colour of rainbows, their body several inches taller or shorter than before and their whole face completely different.

Yuuri wonders, distantly, what his actual form looks like, now. It’s been several years. Has he matured as a kirin, as well? He doesn’t know when kirin stop aging, when they reach maturity, whether it’s by choice or as decreed by Heavens. He never thought to question it. He does know that he only has a limited amount of time, if he decides to not look for the next king. A kirin without a ruler is a lonely thing – at most, they can live for thirty years or so unbound, before passing away.

It’s curious, how kirins work. If he doesn’t choose the next king, he’ll have some 7 years or so left to live. If he does find a king and pledges himself to them, he’ll live as long as the king doesn’t lose his way. In essence, a kirin has very little choice over their own life. They’re like extensions of the Emperor’s will, given personality and freedom for reasons little known.

For the first time in his life, Yuuri finds himself resenting his own nature. He wants more time. He’s just found Victor, is finally finding his skating, starting to enjoy actually living rather than just being alive.

It’s pointless to wish things were different, though. He is what he is. If seven years is all he’ll have, he’s going to enjoy it to the last second.

Firming his resolve, Yuuri takes one last glance at his own reflection. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is set determinedly – he looks like he’s headed for a war, not for ice skating practice. He supposes in some ways he is; a war against his own nature, against the will of the Emperor in Heaven.

A fight for the right to live, huh? Well, the worthiest wars were always fought over the most difficult of things. It’s not like he’s new to war.

 

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri first saw his own reflection in the still waters of the small pond near the Pagoda of Twilit Dew, he could tell something was different about his face, but not what it was. He asked the sages who’d come to help him bathe about it.

“This is your true form,” the young-looking girl with the clothes of a sage explained to him, toweling his hair in a rather hopeless effort to dry the quickly growing mess. “All taika take on a shell when born in Hourai. It protects them from discovery. You would have looked like the family you were born into, Over There. When taika return to this side, the shell becomes unnecessary. This is how you really look, Kouki. The other you is merely a shell.”

Yuuri frowned at the explanation, feeling confused and oddly sad.

“But what if I don’t want to look different?”

“Oh, Kouki. This is the form you were given by the Emperor of the Heavens. You should treasure it. If you truly want to see your other form, you can always visit Hourai – the shell will still be there to protect you.”

That appeased the young kirin some. So he could go back, if he wanted. He wasn’t really homesick, as such – he missed his family, true, but it was an abstract longing for familiarity and love.

“What are taika?” he asked the sage tending to his hair, to distract himself from thoughts of home.

“Taika, or wombfruits, are what we call people who were ripped from this side by a shoku while still inside ranka, an eggfruit. The fruit would be placed into the womb of a woman Over There and the taika is born wearing a shell. There are several famous taika, you know. The Taiho of En is one, and so is their ruler.”

Finally satisfied with the state of his hair, the sage let the young kirin stand up to be dressed into the clothes prepared for him. They reminded Yuuri of the traditional garbs his parents often wore around the inn, but with something slightly different about them, a touch of some culture unfamiliar to him.

“I was a fruit?” Yuuri directed his question to Shinri, who joined them outside the water and shook herself to get rid of the excess water beading her furred skin.

“All people on this side are born as ranka, eggfruits,” Shinri agreed, reaching out to straighten his collar. “Animals and beasts as well. You were born on the Shashinboku, the Sati-tree here on Hohzan. All kirin grow there.”

“The Shashinboku is a sacred tree that only carries the ranka of kirin on its branches,” one of the sages interjected, moving to dry Shinri’s feet for her. “Lamia, like your Shinri here, are born from ranka on a matching root of the tree, to watch over their kirin. It is their duty and calling. Shinri was by your side from the moment your fruit appeared.”

Yuuri didn’t know where children came from, didn’t really know what a womb was either, but he thought it sounded different from what he assumed was normal Over There. He didn’t think people were born as fruits on trees, at least. He hadn’t ever seen a white tree like the Shashinboku over in Hasetsu, so his parents must have gotten him some other way.

Scrunching his face, he decided to give up on the confusing line of questioning for now.

“I’m hungry,” he informed the sages. “Can we go eat something?”

The small group of sages who had been helping him bathe all laughed and agreed. Shinri was reaching for Yuuri’s hand before he could even ask for it, so he clutched at the comforting warmth of her palm and followed the sages leading him through the mazes of Mount Hou towards his pagoda.

 

Yuuri remembered the conversation later, when he spied his reflection again in a mirror within his rooms at the pagoda. He approached the piece of furniture cautiously, Shinri following behind him without saying anything.

He looked… different. And the same. It was difficult to place the differences, really. Yuuri didn’t spend much time staring at himself in the mirror. He thought his hair might have been even darker, somehow a strange multihued black. His eyes were more of a red than a brown. His face looked… maybe a bit narrower? There was a slant to his eyes, but it wasn’t that dissimilar from how he thought he normally looked like.

“Shinri,” Yuuri spoke out loud, “do I look like myself?”

Shinri smiled and hugged him, her own, curious form looming over his in the reflection like a beast attempting to devour its prey. Her face belied that scene, showing nothing but affection and joy.

“You look like Kouki. I see you, whatever the form you take. Kouki is Kouki.”

Yuuri beamed at the lamia’s face in the mirror, cheered by the words. They calmed some uncertain part of him, relieving a worry he hadn’t been able to put into words. He was still himself. If Shinri recognized him in both of his forms, then surely he hadn’t changed, even if he looked somewhat different.

“I’m glad you’re here, Shinri,” he confessed to the lamia, feeling the homesickness starting to creep in after all. There was only so much he could do to avoid thinking of his true home Over There.

Shinri soothed the young kirin, moving him to the large bed prepared for him, and watched over him as he cried, stroking his hair through the tears until he fell into an exhausted sleep, the sight of his lamia curling up next to the bed the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri gets to the rink, the blonde Russian kid is there, watching Victor skate from the boards. He hesitates briefly, but heads over to the teen, silently settling next to him while keeping his eyes on Victor. The older man is beautiful on the ice, after all, and it’s rare to be able to watch him skate just for the sake of it.

“Pig,” Yurio greets him after a while, shoulders hunched.

“Yuri,” Yuuri greets him back pleasantly, smiling. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve the antagonism, but perhaps this is just the way the younger Russian is. He really doesn’t know where the nickname comes from, though. He doesn’t think he shares that close of a resemblance with the animal in question.

The blonde seems pleased about something, which is pretty remarkable considering that their interactions so far have consisted of exactly two words, one of them a name. Apparently Yuuri’s done something right, though, because the defensive posture of the younger boy relaxes and there’s a quick fleeting smile on his face.

“He’s skating the short program he was preparing for the next year,” Yurio offers without prompting, making an aborted gesture towards Victor who remains oblivious to his audience of two. “I’ve seen bits of it before.”

“He was preparing for the next season?”

 _Then what is he doing here_ , is what Yuuri wants to ask. Did the Russian man really drop everything on a whim, hop on the first plane to Japan and offer to coach him after Chris somehow mentioned Yuuri currently didn’t have one? But why? None of it makes sense.

Next to him, Yurio shrugs his shoulders, apparently either not caring or just as at loss about Victor’s reasoning as his Japanese counterpart.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s voice suddenly echoes in the otherwise empty rink, the man in question perking up and quickly skating over to them.

“Are you alright to be skating already? Shouldn’t you take a few more days off to recover?” the older man questions as he leans on the dividing wall, simultaneously pushing into Yuuri’s personal space to take a closer look at his face and fussing with the younger skater’s training jacket in a way that is frankly ridiculous for anyone that isn’t his mother.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! I told you it was just a cold. I’m all better. No fever or anything,” Yuuri quickly assures, backing off from the worried face way too close to his. To be fair to the Russian man, the fever had finally fully faded just yesterday.

Luckily, Yurio quickly distracts Victor by making a loud gagging sound, and starts demanding attention. “Victor! Stop mooning over the pig for a moment, I want to get some actual practicing done!”

Victor draws back from his fussing seemingly reluctantly, but doesn’t contradict the blonde who’s already taking off his skate guards and gliding towards the center of the ice. Instead, he turns back to Yuuri with a questioning look on his face, silently asking if he’s sure he’s okay to skate.

Yuuri smiles back at him, and nods, taking off his own skate guards to join the two Russians on the ice.

 

It feels good to skate, even if he can now remember what actual flying feels like. Skating has its own charm, completely different from flying, and there’s no reason he can’t enjoy both.

While he’s idly tracing figures on one side of the ice, he keeps a distracted eye on the other, where Victor is correcting Yurio on his footwork. They both have a certain presence, a brightness born from stunning looks and solid confidence. Yuuri lacks both and he’s aware of it.

He’s never been one to stand out. His looks are average – he’s not ugly, but he isn’t beautiful like Yurio or gorgeous like Victor, either. He is, at best, nice to look at. It’s what he’s always been and it’s not something he can change, so he’s learned to live with it. He tries to compensate in other ways. If he can’t mesmerize people with his looks, with a confidence he doesn’t boast, then he’ll just have to skate elegantly, intricately, beautifully enough that it’s his skating that draws them in, his skating that bewitches them and keeps them under his spell.

It’s why he works so hard on his step sequences. His step sequences are his trademark, what he’s known for. It’s better than being known for lack of presence or plain looks.

Not that Victor and Yurio don’t skate beautifully themselves – they do, and Yuuri isn’t blind to all the sweat and hard work behind their skating. There’s years of practice and love for the ice in their postures, in the way they throw themselves into every jump with effortless joy, as if reluctant to come back down.

Shaking his head, Yuuri refocuses his wandering attention and moves into a Biellmann spin, just to test the stretch of his muscles and because he enjoys how the pose looks. It’s a move mostly used by female skaters, but he’s flexible enough to pull it off so he sees no reason not to.

Victor’s loud whistle, much closer than expected, startles him into dropping the pose, letting the leg stretched above his head smooth down to a 90 angle as he transitions into a camel spin and then comes to a stop, staring confusedly at his coach.

“You’re much more flexible than I thought,” Victor informs him, moving closer as if to see what makes him work, eyeing his arms and legs with a curious expression.

“What about Yurio?” Yuuri questions, glancing around the rink for the blonde.

“Oh, he needs to do some core exercises so I sent him to the gym,” Victor dismisses easily, sliding behind Yuuri and taking hold of his leg, lifting it back up to the camel spin position. Yuuri doesn’t resist the movement, allowing the man to pose him as he wishes, even if he’s confused by the action.

“Hmm. Do you take dancing lessons, Yuuri?” Victor asks as he stretches the leg further upwards, his other hand coming to rest on Yuuri’s hip to keep him balanced without the movement supporting him.

“Yes,” Yuuri admits hesitantly, feeling flustered and uncertain, but accepting his role as some sort of a posable mannequin. “Minako-sensei taught me ballet and I learned other forms of dance in Detroit. I’ve kept up with ballet for the flexibility.”

Victor ‘hmm’s again, finally letting go of the leg he’s stretched to something approaching a full split and allows Yuuri to place both feet firmly on the ice again as the younger skater watches him with a furrowed brow, an unvoiced question clear in his expression.

“Good! I like it. You’re very flexible; it’s an advantage. I want to know everything about you, Yuuri, if I’m to craft you a program that does justice to both your skating and _you_ ,” Victor tells him cheerfully, like that explains everything. It really doesn’t, but Yuuri nods as if it does all the same. He’s not sure he wants to know how the older man’s thought processes work.

“You’re going to choreograph my program?” Yuuri asks, focusing on the less worrying part of his words.

“Of course! I’ve already started. I’m also choreographing one for Yurio, as promised. He’s going to be staying here for a few weeks to learn it before he flies back to Russia to study under Yakov, my old coach.”

“Oh,” Yuuri replies, for the lack of anything better to say. “Where’s he staying, then?”

“Oh, your family put him in a storage room they emptied. It’s next to the room I’m using. It’s so small and quaint!” Victor exclaims, as if the idea of a small storage room serving as a bedroom is somehow simultaneously novel and amazing. Yuuri wonders, not for the first time, about the kind of living style the older man is used to. He doesn’t really want to know the answer to this, either.

“Uh, right,” Yuuri says. Looks like he’ll be getting to know Yurio better than expected, then. Hopefully, he’ll be less bite than bark, especially considering their first meeting. He’s not sure he can hold back Ginsaku if the blonde tries something similar, again.

Victor seems to know the direction his thoughts are taking, because the Russian smiles at him knowingly and distracts him with a question about the jumps he can do. The rest of their practice is spent practicing his quads, which, to be fair, need all the help the living legend can give.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, lots of stuff of note for this chapter. First of all, some vocabulary.
> 
> Hourai / Over There: Both refer to this world, as opposed to Twelve Kingdoms
> 
> Kirin: Think unicorns, but more of an eastern vibe and closer to deer than horses, with twisty horns. In Twelve Kingdoms, the kirin chooses the king, so there's twelve kirin for twelve kings.
> 
> Taiho: What people call the kirin, once they've chosen a king. The actual word is Saiho, but it's disrespectful to use that.
> 
> Mount Hou / Hohzan / Mountain of the Sage's Brush: One of the five mountains in the center of the Yellow Sea (which is in fact not a sea at all), which is located in the middle of the Twelve Kingdoms world. For a map, check http://i.imgur.com/i6olGO8.gif.
> 
> Lamia / Nyokai: The caretaker of the kirin, born on the root opposite of the branch the kirin grew on. They care after the young kirin until they choose the next king, after which they become normal shirei.
> 
> Shirei: Servants of the kirin, demons and beasts tamed/pacified by them. In exchange for their service, they will devour the kirin's body after their death, absorbing their power.
> 
> Taika / wombfruit: As noted, these are people who were supposed to be born in Twelve Kingdoms but were swept away while still within their fruit, being born on this side instead. They'll be born as normal, protected by a shell that conceals their true appearance, until they return (if they return).
> 
> Shoku: A magical, mysterious storm that can blur the lines between the two worlds. Kirin can create a shoku at will to cross over, but the higher the divine importance of the people crossing over, the more damaging the storm will be. They can ruin entire provinces with their strength.
> 
> Shashinboku: One of the trees that grow life. This is the only one of its kind, the one that kirin appear on. All life comes from trees and ranka, their fruit in Twelve Kingdoms. Riboku bear the ranka of humans, livestock and hanjyu/half-beasts. Yaboku bear the eggfruits of wild animals, plants and demons.
> 
> Ranka: Eggfruit, the source of life. They grow on special, white trees that can not be harmed by weapons. A couple must pray for a ranka to appear on the riboku, whether it be for livestock or a child.
> 
> Seriously though, this world has way too much lore to cover so easily. I'll do my best to not rush too much and to explain terms slowly, over time. Hopefully it wasn't too confusing either way.
> 
> Shinri, Senran and Ginsaku are all characters I had to make up, since there's not much known about Kou. Shinri actually shows up shortly in the anime, though she's never named as far as I know - I made her description match, though. The naming customs of Twelve Kingdoms don't seem to follow the typical Japanese ones, so I made up the names and the kanji that form them. If you're curious, they're below.
> 
> SHINRI - 信利 - "Fidelity, trust" and "advantage, benefit" 
> 
> SENRAN - 倩 蘭 - ”Attractive” and ”Orchid” 
> 
> GINSAKU - 銀作 - “Silver” and “Work (of art), harvest, cultivation”
> 
> Amusingly, Shinri has the same second kanji as Yuuri. I thought it fitting.
> 
> Apologies for the extremely lengthy author's note! I hope I didn't forget anything.. I'm actually not all that happy with this chapter, but at least it's written and up for the reading. I'll try to keep future chapters above the 5k length, as well. There's rocky times ahead...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loss is an inevitable part of everything gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length of this chapter - it just ran off without waiting for me to catch up. (It's also why this took a while to write)
> 
> One thing I've been considering recently and thought to ask opinions on; I've been wanting to include other POVs in this story, because Yuuri - while good - offers a limited, biased take on everything. I want to at least include Victor's third person view, but at this point inserting a variation in POV would disturb the flow of the story.
> 
> Should I turn this into a series and write the alternate views as separate entries? Or would an interlude work? I'm not quite sure how to go about it, so any ideas will be appreciated~

Yuuri wakes up to a sudden weight unsettling the balance of his bed and whines as he burrows deeper into the nest of blankets surrounding him. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s way too early to be awake regardless. As he blinks his eyes blearily open, an answering whine informs him what the cause of the disturbance is – Makkachin has somehow found his way into the room, apparently having decided to keep him company in his sleep.

It still baffles him that the dog actually _likes_ him. Most animals avoid him, some sort of innate sense telling them that he’s not what he seems. For all that he looks human, he most definitely is not. Kirin are, after all, closer to beasts than humans, divine as they may be. Sleepily, he wonders if Grandma Saito from the dagashiya would be happy to know that she’s partly right in her suspicions – Katsuki Yuuri really is no miracle child, not a human at all, for all that this is the way he’s always been.

“Makkachin? How’d you get in?” he drowsily murmurs to the lump wriggling into his fort of blankets. The dog’s tail starts thumping against his bed upon hearing his voice, but a small yip is all the answer the poodle gives. Yawning, Yuuri reaches for his phone, checking the time. It’s only seven in the morning, so he lets his phone drop back on the bed and reaches into the blankets to give Makkachin a scratch behind the ears.

Seven in the morning, much too early to be awake.

Seven…

Seven!

Yuuri suddenly startles and sits up in a full panic mode, ready to leap out of the bed and rush to the rink for the practice he’s very, very late for. Then his brain finally fully engages and informs him it’s Sunday. Sunday means a day off training. Yuuri groans and flops back into a lying-down position. Makkachin protests the sudden activity with a disgruntled whine and Yuuri reaches to resume the ear scratches, earning a distracted lick for his efforts.

Despite the sudden shock, his bed is warm and Makkachin makes for a comforting presence against his side, and it’s enough to lull him back towards the mellow swell of sleep. There’s no reason _not_ to – so he simply turns around, hugs Makkachin closer, prompting the dog’s tail to start wagging anew, and lets himself drift back under.

 

* * *

 

 

One of the first things Yuuri realized, though it took him an embarrassingly long time to do so, was that he was free to do as he wished, within reason. There were no chores, no expectations – if he wanted to stay in bed all day, he could. If he didn’t wish to get up from bed, no one would come scold him for it or demand that he get up, _look at the time young man_!

As long as he kept Shinri with him and didn’t wander beyond a certain area, he was free to spend his days as he wished. It was both exciting and daunting – Yuuri had never had so much freedom before. He kept expecting someone to scold him for being lazy.

If not for Shinri, he may have well just stayed in his bed all day for the lack of chores. Yuuri wasn’t used to not having to do anything and having the freedom to decide for himself was scary. What if he did something wrong? How did he know what he was allowed to do? What if he did something that caused trouble for others? There were so many unknowns.

Shinri was the one who prompted him, most of the time, in her own, peculiar way.

“Are you ready to get up, Kouki?” she would ask in the mornings, when Yuuri first woke. He would say yes, for the lack of anything else to say, and thus he would be up for the day.

“What did you use to do, Over There?” Shinri would ask, on the times that Yuuri found himself sitting on the stone steps of one of the pagodas, bored and idly kicking his legs while watching the clouds drift by.

So Yuuri told Shinri all about the chores, school, friends and the hot springs. He told her about how there was never any time for quiet except when sleeping, how the guests would play with him and how they learned things at school. He told her about Yuuko, Nishigori and the games kids in Hasetsu would play. He told her about Minako-sensei and ballet.

Shinri had never heard of most of the games, though she was always happy to play with him and learn. Yuuri even managed to convince some of the sages to join in, and they’d run around and play tag or hide and seek, long trailing sleeves and hems tied up and without care about getting them dirty.

It was the ballet, however, that made him his first true friend on Mount Hou.

When Yuuri explained ballet, Shinri couldn’t picture it, so Yuuri had to show her how it worked. He showed the lamia everything he knew, from warm-up stretches to simple pliés and jetés, even some actual short routines. He explained how jumps worked and how important controlling your whole body was for the art. Shinri proved an attentive student, even if she was unable to perform any of the moves herself the way they were intended to be performed, though not for the lack of trying. Yuuri spent a lot of time giggling at her attempts to do a brisé and Shinri seemed happy to hear his laughter, rather than getting mad about it.

Youka was a young sage, much younger than most of the other oracles at Hohzan. She was on her way to wash some laundry and saw Yuuri showing Shinri how to do an Arabesque, the lamia trying to mimic it unsuccessfully, her tail constantly getting in the way. The sight was enough to make her laugh, catching Yuuri’s surprised attention and causing the young kirin to fall from his own pose, landing on his behind. Youka was quick to drop her basket of laundry and rush to help Yuuri back to his feet, apologizing all the while.

“My apologies, Master Kouki! I didn’t mean to startle you,” the young sage told Yuuri fretfully, fussing over his robes. “Apologies to you too, Haku Shinri, for disturbing you.”

“It’s fine, right, Shinri?” Yuuri asked the lamia, turning his face downwards to hide his flustered expression. The sages were rarely familiar with him and there were so many of them that he could hardly remember any of their names, so they all tended to get bundled together into one in his mind. He wasn’t even sure what this one was called, though he saw her a lot while she hurried around completing her chores.

Shinri simply nodded, opting to be quiet while draping her hands around Yuuri in a loose embrace.

“If I may ask, Master Kouki, what was it you were doing just now?” the girl asked, still kneeling at Yuuri’s level.

“Um, it’s a thing called ballet. I used to practice it a lot at home- uh, Over There,” Yuuri explained, shifting his feet uncertainly. “Is it not allowed? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Oh, no! Master Kouki can practice this... ballet, if he so wishes. We are here to serve the lord of Brush-Jar Palace in whatever way he wishes,” Youka was quick to assure him. “I thought it looked beautiful and fun.”

“Really?” Yuuri asked, flushed with anticipation, and beamed at the sage. “Do you want to try it, too? Shinri can’t do it too well, because of her tail. We could practice together!”

Youka looked taken aback, then smiled so wide it looked almost painful.

“Yes, I’d love that!”

That was how it became tradition for Yuuri, Shinri and Youka, with some of the other sages occasionally joining in, to practice ballet every day before dinnertime, outside when the weather allowed it and inside in a room reserved just for the cause when not. It was regarded as something of an oddity by most of the sages, but the laughter and cheer from the practice sessions brought a smile to the face of anyone passing by, so they accepted the new addition to their daily routines with good grace and amusement.

Kouki was, after all, the only kirin on Mount Hou at the time, and thus their master. The sages lived to serve the kirin until their descent to the world below, and so they would serve this one to the best of their abilities, like all those before.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri wakes up again, it’s slowly and to the feeling of being watched. There’s something tickling at his nose, so he bats the annoyance away and smushes his face into the pillows under his head, grumbling disagreeably. Makkachin is still a warm weight against his back, the feel of his wagging tail shaking the bed a comforting constant.

“Yuuuriiii,” a quiet voice murmurs near his ear. “It’s time to wake up.”

The correct response to that, thinks Yuuri fuzzily, is to ignore it. He scrunches his face and pulls the blankets higher, hopefully letting whoever is bothering his sleep know that he’s determined to not be woken.

“Yuuri! Wake up! Makkachin won’t join me if you don’t get up as well, the traitor!” the voice is whining, now, and there’s a hand tugging at the blankets he refuses to relinquish.

“Nooo,” Yuuri groans, desperately curling into a ball in an effort to get back under the traitorous blankets and their fluffy warmth.

“You leave me no choice, Yuuri,” the voice announces mournfully. “Makkachin, get him!”

The feel of a heavy, pony-sized poodle pouncing on him and forcing all the air out of his lungs is enough to force Yuuri properly awake with a shout muffled by the mattress. Mercifully, Makkachin seems to sense his distress and quickly gives up on trying to suffocate him, relocating instead to his side to give his face a quick wash-up, complete with dog-breath.

“Makkachin, stooop,” Yuuri laughs helplessly, as he wrestles his way out of the tangle of his blankets and one happy dog. Finally popping free of the fluffy prison, he gratefully breathes in a lungful of the fresh, cool air outside the covers.

“There you are!” Victor’s voice echoes from much too close, bright and loud in the quiet of the room. “I was starting to think I’d have to kiss you awake.”

“Victor!” Yuuri startles at the Russian man sitting on his bed. The blue eyes are regarding him with clear amusement and the single eyebrow arching upwards conveys a clear ‘What?’ without it needing to be voiced.

“Why are you in my room?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“I came to wake you up, of course! It may be a day off training, but that’s no reason to sleep past noon,” Victor chides cheerfully. “Besides, I was missing Makkachin since you stole her this morning.”

“Past noon?” is the point Yuuri focuses on, reaching for his phone to check the time while rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes.

Victor is right, of course, it’s just past twelve and well past the time he ought to get up. It’s been ages since Yuuri has slept in this late, but he figures he deserves it after all that the Russian puts him through in the name of training.

“How’d Makkachin get in here, anyway?”

“Oh, I let her in earlier,” Victor announces shamelessly, ignoring Yuuri’s flabbergasted expression at his answer.

“And you say I stole her,” Yuuri mutters under his breath as he moves to get out of the bed, pausing to stare at Victor meaningfully.

Victor simply stares back, completely at home and making no sign of getting up or out of the room.

“Victor, I want to get dressed,” Yuuri says pointedly, raising his eyebrows and eyeing the door meaningfully.

“Go ahead,” the older man agrees, nodding his head in encouragement.

“Meaning, could you please get out?” Yuuri bites out, flushed but refusing to back down.

Victor pouts, the grown man that he is. Yuuri wonders if Russia’s treasure would have less fans if they knew this side of their hero. Probably not.

“We take baths together all the time,” Victor complains, but obediently gets up and leaves the room, Makkachin jumping off the bed to follow him. Yuuri sighs with relief as the door clicks closed after them and finally gets up to get dressed for the day.

 

When Yuuri makes it down to breakfast – or more of a lunch, considering the time – Yurio and Victor are both there, eating and talking in rapid Russian. Yuuri is amused to find that his divine contract, unwritten as it is, still allows him to understand the language. He wonders if he ever actually learned English in school, or if the strange system has been covering for his mistakes all this time. Hopefully, it’s the former rather than the latter.

“Finally up, Pig?” Yurio greets him.

Yuuri thinks he’s getting used to the younger Russian, so the form of address doesn’t even phase him. He smiles at the kid, nodding his own greeting. His mother is quick to bring out some food for him, topping up Yurio’s bowl while at it in a gesture of motherly fussing.

“Eat up, Yurio! We’re going sightseeing after you’re done,” Victor informs the other Yuri, nodding towards his newly filled dish.

“What!? I didn’t agree to anything like that!” Yurio yelps through a mouthful of food, prompting Yuuri to click his tongue disapprovingly without even thinking about it. Oddly, the angry teen seems almost chastised, chewing through his mouthful and swallowing before speaking again.

“I have better things to do than follow you around, geezer,” Yurio grumbles after his mouth is free.

“You don’t want to have a look around? I saw some tiger print shirts at one of the stores, here. Oh well, if you’re too busy I guess it can’t be helped,” Victor sighs dramatically, leaning backwards in a show of woeful acceptance.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t coming!” Yurio yells, aggressively stuffing the rest of the food into his mouth and swallowing it down in record time. “What are you sitting around for? I thought we were going out!”

Yuuri blinks at Yurio’s back, confused by the sudden turn-around, but Victor seems to have expected it because the older man is already smiling as he pulls on his jacket.

“You want to join us too, Yuuri?” Victor offers, looking at him expectantly.

Yuuri glances at his mostly full bowl of late-breakfast, glances at Victor’s hopeful puppy eyes, glances back at his food, then gives up with a sigh. He quickly chews through one, last mouthful of rice, then gets up and goes to fetch his jacket accompanied by the sound of Victor’s happy little cheer.

 

* * *

 

Youka was the one to tell him about Taiki, while brushing his slowly growing hair one evening.

“He had black hair, like yours,” Youka explained, carefully unraveling a particularly persistent tangle of hair close to his left ear. “Black kirin are quite rare, though not as rare as some others. I’ve heard that there was even a red kirin, once.”

“What’re normal kirin like, then?” Yuuri asked, watching the sage’s focused expression through the mirror. Shinri stretched out behind them, at rest but ever watchful.

“Most kirin have golden hair, like the Taiho of Ren whom you have met. Taiki had black hair, though – well, I suppose it’s a mane rather than hair, in the case of kirin. He was a taika, like you.”

Yuuri pondered the information, relaxing into the carding of the comb through his hair. If Taiki was a black kirin and a taika, just like him, he wondered if they’d get along. His mother used to say that shared experience brought people closer together. Maybe they could be friends?

“Can I meet him?” Yuuri asked hopefully.

Youka’s expression turned sad, almost mournful, and Yuuri already knew the answer without her having to voice it.

“The Taiho of Tai was lost to us shortly after he chose the new Peace-King of Tai. It was tragic – there was always fighting in Tai, but we hoped that the king would be able to calm down the unrest and that Tai would prosper once more. Both Taiki and the king went missing during the fighting and haven’t been heard from since then. There has been no new ranka for the next kirin of Tai on the Shashinboku though, so Taiki must still live, somewhere.”

“Oh,” Yuuri whispered, his voice small. “Were you friends with him?”

“Yes. He was the first kirin I served after I became an oracle,” Youka smiled at him, gentle and kind. “I became friends with his lamia, Haku Sanshi, first, while he was still Over There. Sanshi took the loss of his eggfruit hard, just like your Shinri.”

Yuuri glanced at Shinri, who smiled for him and nodded, acknowledging the hardship and loss while assuring him that he needn’t worry about it.

“Sorry,” Yuuri told the lamia, despite her reassurance.

He might not have wanted to be taken, certainly hadn’t done anything to cause it, but he still felt sorry for Shinri, who had to suffer through it all.

“You are here now,” Shinri said, like that was all that mattered. Like that was enough.

“You know, when Taiki first came here, he didn’t know how to transform into a kirin, either,” Youka said suddenly, distracting Yuuri from his worries.

“He didn’t? How did he learn?”

This was a topic of great concern for Yuuri. He was supposed to be a kirin, but he had no idea how to go about being one. The sages had explained that most kirin were born in their beast form, eventually assuming the human one, but as Yuuri had been born Over There, he was different.

“Well, the Taiho of Kei visited and taught him about pacification and kirin, since the sages are not privy to the secrets of your kind,” Youka explained. “It didn’t seem to change much, but perhaps the lessons did help – Taiki simply transformed one night, without any warning.”

“But that doesn’t tell me how to transform,” Yuuri frowned petulantly. “How can I become a kirin? Can the Taiho of Kei help me, too?”

“The Taiho of Kei is quite busy with the current Glory-King of Kei – she is still fairly new and learning” Youka said, smoothing down the young kirin’s hair while laying the comb down on the dresser.

“You know kirin are horned beasts, yes?” Youka asked, turning the chair Yuuri was sitting on around so that they were sat facing each other.

Yuuri nodded expectantly.

“Well, the horn is the home of the kirin’s powers,” Youka told him seriously, reaching out to press one, slender finger against Yuuri’s forehead, near his hairline. “This probably feels unpleasant to you. That’s because this is where your horn is – no kirin likes having it bound or disturbed.”

Yuuri nodded uncomfortably, resisting the urge to push the hand away.

“Can I choose a king if I can’t transform?” Yuuri voiced his next worry.

“The kirin is the only one who can choose the king,” Youka assured, “though it’s the Emperor of the Heavens that truly does the choosing. You will know, when you meet them. The kirin always knows – they receive a revelation.”

Yuuri felt mostly relief. He wouldn’t be the one to really choose, then, but the Emperor – whoever he was – would do it, and he would simply tell the others. He wondered why the Emperor didn’t just tell the next king directly, but maybe there were circumstances. There always seemed to be circumstances, with adults.

That night, when Yuuri settled down to sleep, curling up next to Shinri, he felt the anxiety he had been carrying for days dissipate like smoke with the last rays of the setting sun. The weight of worries fell off his shoulders and his sleep was better than it had been since he was first told he was a kirin.

Years later, after he chose the new Naze-king, he would remember the story of Taiki and find out their stories had even more parallels than he had thought before then.

 

* * *

 

 

While Victor and Yurio are busy browsing the wares of one of the clothing stores lining the shopping district, Yuuri stays outside to wait with Makkachin, protected from the sudden rain by the roof covering the whole street. The dog isn’t allowed inside any of the stores, something that Victor seems to find surprising – not even his flirting and brilliant smile makes the middle-aged proprietor of the place the two Russians are currently browsing relent, remaining stone-faced in the face of the most dramatic puppy eyes Yuuri has ever seen. Internally, he applauds the store owner.

A florist’s catches Yuuri’s eye as he observes the busy bustle of the shoutengai, and an idea begins to form. Absently petting Makkachin, he pulls out his phone to check the moon calendar and is pleased to find that, while not quite full moon, it’s close enough for his purposes. It’s not a requirement, really, but it does make things much smoother.

Yuuri steals a quick look towards where Victor and Yurio are still busy with the shirt racks, then considers Makkachin, who’s panting happily at his feet. While Makkachin is rarely leashed, she’s wearing one today for the sake of the crowds and the occasional food stall. Glancing towards Victor once more, Yuuri clips Makkachin’s leash to a convenient bike stand, apologizing silently inside his mind.

“Sorry, Makkachin – I’ll be right back, so wait here, okay?” Yuuri tells the confused dog, offering a quick scratch and pat before hurrying towards the florist’s, entering to find the front empty of people. He doesn’t spend time looking at the flowers available, heading directly for the counter instead. Luckily, the small bell on it summons the shop owner easily enough.

“Welcome, how may I help you?” asks the young woman appearing from the back of the store, pushing aside the dividing curtain while bowing slightly in greeting.

“Um, do you have any cut orchids?” Yuuri asks, uncomfortable but determined to push through with his plan.

“Yes, we carry a large selection of several types of orchids,” the owner assures, smiling and gesturing towards the sides of the store that hold the coolers filled with various flowers, obviously expecting him to follow her.

“That’s good – I’d like to buy all of them,” Yuuri states, fastening his eyes to a point just behind the clerk’s shoulders in an effort to not look down.

“Ah – all of them?” the woman asks, clearly surprised, but rallying quickly. “Of course, sir. May I ask – would you like them delivered? We really do have quite a large selection.”

Yuuri considers this, then agrees with a nod. “Yes, delivery would be best. Can I pay with a card?”

They sort through the details, the woman writing his receipt and giving a rather sizeable discount because of the bulk order. In the end, Yuuri finds he has just bought 223 orchids, of varying types, which will be delivered to Yu-topia, Hasetsu, by the end of the day. He thanks the shop owner and hurries back to where he left Makkachin, relieved to find the dog waiting patiently with both Russian men still busy inside the store.

“You’re getting extra meat for dinner tonight, Makkachin,” Yuuri tells the dog as he unclips the leash from the bike stand and ruffles the poodle’s fluffy ears to much happy barking and yips.

Moments later, Victor’s bright voice calls out to him. “Yuuri! Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man says as he steps out of the store with a sulky Yurio following him. “And you too, Makkachin, did you behave for Yuuri?”

Yuuri hands over Makkachin’s leash and watches Victor smoosh the dog’s snout as he receives the eager doggy kiss greeting from the overenthusiastic poodle.

“Did you buy something nice?” Yuuri asks the younger Russian, who’s kicking at the ground with agitated movements. He’s holding a bag, so he must have found something he liked in the shop.

“Why’re you asking, Pig? I’m not going to give you fashion advice, even if you really need it. Find your own clothes,” Yurio scowls at him.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean – I thought the shirt in the window looked like something you’d like,” Yuuri stutters, uncertain but trying to avoid offending the blonde even more, somehow.

“They didn’t have my size,” Yurio grounds out, looking like he’s considering going back in the store to shout at the owner over the fact. “But there was a jacket with the same design so I got that instead.”

Yuuri supposes that explains the sulking, though at the mention of the jacket Yurio’s face brightens up noticeably.

“I’m glad they had something, at least,” the Japanese skater offers hopefully. “If you want the shirt, I can look for it online, later?”

Yurio’s eyes widen and he turns to glare at Yuuri so fast that it makes him wonder what he said wrong, this time.

“Really? You’ll find it online for me? You better, Pig! It’s a promise!”

Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong, after all. Yuuri wonders if glaring is the kid’s default expression, something like the average person’s pleasant public smile.

“Sure, we can check when we get home. I know the brand they sell here, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Yurio immediately grabs Victor’s sleeve, shouting at the man to “hurry the fuck up,” physically dragging the older Russian and, by proxy, his excited dog down the street and back towards Yu-topia.

 

The flowers are delivered later that day, as promised. Yuuri signs for them himself, having told his mother earlier about expecting a delivery. As he eyes the thankfully nondescript boxes, he considers the best way to transport them where he needs them. It might be easiest to open them up and repack all the flowers in one big container.

Casting a wary eye towards the inn, he wonders if he can sneak the flowers out without Victor or Yurio noticing. Or his family, for that matter. He’d rather not have to explain them. Well, there’s one way that might work – he might as well try it.

“Shinri,” Yuuri calls quietly.

“ _Yes, Taiho_ ,” comes the immediate reply.

“Can you get these boxes to the beach without being seen?”

“ _Yes, Taiho_ ,” Shinri confirms.

Between one blink and the next, she’s emerged from the shadow at his feet. Yuuri eyes their surroundings, but no one is around and they’re mostly hidden from view by the fencing of the inn and some conveniently placed bushes. Turning back to look at Shinri, Yuuri observes her carefully. She hasn’t changed since he met her, still the exact same as when he first laid eyes on the lamia. There’s not a single wrinkle on her ageless face, and her eyes still hold all the affection she freely gives to him, even if it’s now tempered by the solemnity of her position as his shirei.

“Shinri,” Yuuri repeats the name, blinking back the tears. He hasn’t seen her since the fateful day in Kou that ended the life they had built for themselves.

“Taiho,” Shinri says, and despite her current role, despite the fact that she is no longer his caretaker, she hugs him close to her like it’s all that she wants. Yuuri hugs her back just as desperately, all but clinging to the one being who’s been with him through everything, who he knows will never leave him, even in death. It’s what she was born for, after all.

“Sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, finally releasing the lamia. “I missed you.”

“I’m always here,” Shinri reminds him, smiling gently. “I will take care of the boxes, as you asked.”

Yuuri watches her pick up the boxes like they weigh nothing, leaping away nimbly and quickly disappearing into the shadows of the setting sun. He knows she’ll hide them at the beach without having to be asked, will make sure they stay safe until he can get to them. Sighing, he turns and heads back inside.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri first met Enki, the days were getting longer and warmer, signaling the approaching summer solstice. On Mount Hou, this meant the opening of one of the four gates and the beginning of the pilgrimages that would fill the slopes of the mountain with people hoping to either glimpse the kirin or be chosen as the next king of Kou.

The four gates of Hohzan each opened once a year, at one of the equinoxes or solstices. The journey to the mountain was harsh and long and demons roamed freely within the Yellow sea surrounding the hills. A person was only allowed to ascend the mountain once in their lives, which made the journey all the more important for those either desperate or determined enough to try their luck.

The equinoxes and solstices were known as “the day of safe passage”; when the contenders would arrive in large groups to offer themselves to be judged by the kirin, in the hopes of being found worthy of becoming the next king. During the event, tents and temporary dwellings would dot the usually deserted landscape, creating the image of a bustling village of colourful flags and boisterous chatter.

Summer solstice meant the opening of the Reikon Gate, which faced southwest towards Sai. The fall equinox would likely bring more hopefuls, since the southeast Reison Gate faced directly towards Kou, from whence the people would flock towards Hohzan. Even so, the oracles of Mount Hou expected to welcome large numbers considering the current situation of Kou. While the wait for the next king hadn’t been overly long yet and kingdoms had been known to spend over a hundred years between rulers, Kou had been declining long before Kourin, the previous kirin, passed away, inevitably followed by her king.

Since the previous king had lost his way well before his passing, the kingdom had been suffering from surges of demons and natural disasters that signaled the end of a rule to all those who knew what to look for. There were several ways for a king to end his reign, but the most common one was by shitsudou – the losing of way. The Emperor of the Heavens granted the ruler many privileges, including near immortality, health and prosperity, but they came with heavy responsibility. If a ruler disregarded the Great Ropes that they had sworn to maintain, or if they strayed from the narrow path of justice and fairness, the king would lose the mandate of Heaven. This would show on the kirin, who would fall ill with shitsudou and continue to wither until the king either found his way anew or the kirin finally passed away. If the latter happened, the king would soon follow the kirin to the beyond.

When a king lost his way, the whole kingdom suffered. Natural disasters would occur often and with a larger impact, illness and disease would spread and demons and beasts would scour the land. All of this meant that Kou was currently a very poor kingdom, though not as badly off as Tai, which had been suffering without a king for much longer and never achieved stability before the previous king and kirin disappeared. Kei was known to receive large numbers of refugees from Kou, as one of its neighbours and with a reputation for accepting and providing for them.

The sages were worried that Yuuri would feel the pressure to choose a king with the current situation being what it was. Even more worrying was his lack of protection – Yuuri had no shirei, having not learned how to pacify beasts and demons, and couldn’t even transform into his kirin form in order to escape. He only had Shinri, who while fierce was mostly suited to opponents with short reach and low numbers. If there were any resentful or rowdy guests in the crowds, the kirin would be unprotected from assault.

This was how the Taiho of En came to be summoned to Mount Hou, at the request of Lady Gyokuyo.

 

En was a well-established kingdom with a king known for his proficiency at governing and genius in administration. Under his rule, En had flourished and was regarded as one of the most stable and prosperous kingdoms out of all of the Twelve. The Taiho of En and the king, Shoryu, were both taika like Yuuri. Enki was known to be quite free spirited and to spend a large amount of time over in Hourai, where he had been born. This was how he had come to discover both Taiki and Yuuri, as kirin misplaced by a shoku. A kirin would always recognize one another, by just the aura alone.

“Yo!” was the very informal greeting Taiho of En offered upon first meeting Yuuri on Hohzan, at the Pagoda of Twilit Dew.

One of the sages coughed meaningfully.

“Sheesh, this isn’t formal or anything – why do we need the ceremony?” Enki complained, but straightened his slightly slouched posture anyway. “I’m the Taiho of En, but you already knew that. Feel free to call me Rokuta, if you want.”

Yuuri regarded the boy in front of him curiously, half hidden behind Shinri. Enki was very different from the Taiho of Ren whom he had seen before. Where Renrin appeared regal and elegant, Enki looked to be as young as Yuuri himself, perhaps around thirteen years old, with wild golden hair and casual clothes. He had the aura of self-assurance and seemed to almost glow under his gaze, similar to Ren Taiho – probably the aura of the kirin Yuuri had heard the sages mention.

“Um, hello,” Yuuri responded, still feeling shy. This was the first kirin he had the chance to actually converse with, and he didn’t want to make a bad impression or talk too much or appear too eager, even if the other appeared to be around the same age as him.

“Wow, you really are just a baby kirin, still,” Enki wondered, looking almost awed. “Here, let’s ditch these old ladies and go take a walk or something. You can show me your favourite spots, it’s been a while since I’ve been to Hohzan.”

Yuuri hesitantly glanced towards the oracles accompanying them, but they seemed well used to the other kirin’s attitude, merely smiling and nodding their encouragement. Looking at Enki, Yuuri hesitated a while longer, then reached out to grasp the hand stretched towards him and followed the other kirin towards the mazes of Mount Hou, Shinri tailing behind them.

“You really remind me of Taiki, you know,” Enki mentioned as they sat at one of the many watering holes, under a sprawling tree that was blooming with bright red flowers, kicking their feet in the water.

“Really? You knew Taiki?” Yuuri asked, curious.

“I was the one who found both him and you Over There. I like to visit, see how everything’s changed.”

Yuuri wondered if he could do the same, maybe keep company to the other kirin, see his family again. “I don’t remember seeing you there”, he pointed out.

“Oh, I look different there. I’m a taika like you. Though you don’t look all that different, really – must be the hair, since you’re a black kirin like Taiki,” Enki explained. “Do you want me to call you Kouki or do you prefer your name from Over There?”

“You can call me Yuuri, if you want,” Yuuri said. “I’m still not used to being called Kouki by everyone.”

“Yeah, it can be pretty weird at first. Though I’m used to it by now. Only Shoryu really calls me Rokuta these days.”

“The Ever-King of En?”

“That’s the one, though you should avoid calling him anything other than his name in front of him. It all goes to his head faster than you can sneeze,” Enki confirmed.

“I can call you Rokuta, though?” Yuuri asked, looking at the other kirin from under his bangs. They, like the rest of his hair, were getting long enough to tie back, but the sages had been too busy to tie up his hair before the Taiho of En arrived.

“Sure! And I’ll call you Yuuri. And now we’re friends!” Enki exclaimed cheerfully, thrusting out his hand like he had before, at the Pagoda. Yuuri took it and gently shook it, smiling all the while.

“I’ve only had a couple of friends my age before,” he confessed to the other boy.

“Oh, well, it’s probably somewhat bad form to say this, but that’s not going to change now – I’m actually much older than you. By, like, five hundred years and some,” Enki laughed.

Yuuri goggled.

“I see you haven’t covered that part in your history lessons, yet,” Enki noted. “You know about the divine registry, right?”

“Um, it’s where they record the names of the ruler and those they choose for divine status, right?” Yuuri said, trying to remember what he had been told about it.

“In a sense, yes. Basically, it’s like a log of the important people, and it grants them stuff like immortality and some odd translation thing. The king is always on it, from the moment they accept the kirin’s vow,” Enki – or Rokuta, as he was allowed to call him – explained. “They call them sages, people like that. The oracles here have a divine status, too. Basically, they don’t age and they’re pretty hard to kill with weapons as well. Some special weapons will do the trick, as will beheading and such, though, so don’t try it.”

“So kirin are sages, too?”

“Hmm, no, that’s a bit different. We’re not on the registry, but as long as we serve a king we might as well be. Without a king we don’t get the whole immortality deal – a kirin’s lifespan is only about thirty years – but the language aspect is still there. When you serve a king, the rest of the stuff applies, too.”

“The language? I thought everyone spoke Japanese, here,” Yuuri pointed out, feeling confused.

“That’s what it’ll sound like to you, but they’re not. Sages will understand any language and be understood by anyone, regardless of theirs. It’s pretty weird – I once spoke with a man missing all his teeth and most of his tongue, and I could still understand him just fine, even though he wasn’t even speaking any proper language at all,” the older kirin said, a distant look in his eyes.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed out. He wondered how it worked.

“Anyway, I heard you wanted to learn how to change shape,” Enki suddenly spoke up, stretching his arms above his head and kicking out with his feet. “Do you want to watch me change, in case it helps?”

“Yes!” Yuuri exclaimed, eyes sparkling. He hadn’t ever seen a kirin before, so he had been wondering about what they looked like. In his mind, he pictured them as animals a bit like horses, but with a neck like giraffe’s – they were called kirin after all – and a horn like the unicorns he had seen in picture books. The image was quite funny, but the sages always claimed kirin were very noble looking animals, so he must’ve been picturing them wrong.

Enki stood up in the shallow water of the pond. “Okay, I’ll show you, then!”

It wasn’t a slow transformation or a flash or like anything that Yuuri had ever read about. At one point, there was a boy where Rokuta stood. The next, there was an animal the likes of which Yuuri had never seen before. He realized he had been wrong to assume kirin would look like anything he knew from before – this was a different world, with its own creatures; and kirin were definitely of this world.

As a kirin Enki was, simply put, beautiful. He wasn’t like a horse and _nothing_ like a giraffe. The neck was longer than a horse’s, but not by much, and the horn wasn’t a spiraling twist like a unicorn’s, but rather a pointed, two-pronged antler-like appendage. The pelt of the kirin was pure white and glowing, with thousands of other colours hinted at by the sparkling hairs. The mane was like spun gold and incredibly long, reaching almost to the ground and twisting without tangling, somehow. He had no muzzle, like one might expect from a horse, but something closer to a snout one might find on a wolf or a deer. The kirin’s body was shaped strangely, as well, somehow narrower and longer than a horse’s, with an obviously different skeletal structure underneath. Yet, despite all the odd quirks and the vague off-feeling the beast radiated, the divine animal was without a doubt both beautiful and noble, just as the oracles had claimed.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed out again, reaching out with his hand, then hesitating before he could touch the beast stood in the water in front of him.

“ _You can touch_ ,” Enki’s voice echoed in the air without the animal’s mouth moving.

“You can speak like this?” Yuuri wondered, reaching out again now that he had permission to do so, marveling at how soft and silky the white pelt of the kirin felt under his fingers.

“ _Yup. Most of this stuff is instinctual, like the transformation_ ,” Rokuta told him, bowing his head slightly to allow Yuuri to pet his snout. “ _It’ll come naturally to you, so you shouldn’t worry too much. You just don’t have the need for it, yet. If there’s any advice I can give, it’s to focus on your horn and to just go with the flow_.”

“Go with the flow,” Yuuri echoed dubiously.

 _“Yup. Now, do you want to go for a ride? I can take you up so you get a better view of this place_ ,” Enki suggested mischievously.

“Can we?” Yuuri asked, almost clapping his hands together in his eagerness. He turned towards Shinri, who seemed hesitant to allow it, but then gave up with a sigh and a glance at the Taiho of En.

“Please don’t take him outside the borders of Brush-Jar Palace, Master Enki,” Shinri requested, bowing her head.

“ _Sure thing! Climb on, I bet you’ve never flown on a kirin before!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not easy to sneak out without being noticed, but Yuuri manages. In the end, to avoid being seen, he chooses to leave directly from his room, through the window, somehow managing to climb down without falling or making a huge racket. He leaves the window open for his return, hoping the closed door will be enough to keep the cool spring air from alerting people about his absence.

He finds Shinri on the beach, where she has been guarding the boxes and making sure both she and they remain unnoticed. It’s still early enough in the year that the beach rarely gets any visitors aside from the occasional jogger, though, so Yuuri doubts she had much trouble with either task. Shinri bows at him before sinking back into his shadow, hidden from sight once more.

Yuuri considers the boxes of flowers and the problem they present, once more. The sun has set, so there’s little risk of being seen in the pale light of the moon. The easiest way, at this point, would be to open the boxes and gather the flowers to be carried, but that means he’ll require help.

“Ginsaku,” Yuuri calls out, and the demon is there, as if eager to be summoned.

Yuuri observes his shirei, noting the form he’s assumed with some curiosity. Ginsaku isn’t restricted to a single form, being a shape-shifter, but he tends towards wolf and canine shapes for some reason. This time, however, the beast has chosen to appear as a hybrid form of a large, speckled feline and some kind of a bird, probably something that only exists on the other side. His fur, as always, is a shining silver, similar in shade to Victor’s hair.

Ginsaku ruffles his feathers, spreading out the two large wings adorning his spine, and snaps his beak, preening at his interest.

“ _You approve_?” the beast asks, sounding both amused and pleased.

“It’s… different,” Yuuri says. “Why this form?”

“ _I felt like it_ ,” Ginsaku shrugs, his fur rippling with movement.

Yuuri nods, accepting the non-answer, not really expecting anything different. Ginsaku is both capricious and laid-back on the best of days, and he’s long given up on trying to understand the way the demon thinks.

He goes to work with the boxes, opening them up one by one and gathering the flowers, stringing together a flower crown for his shirei on a whim. Ginsaku accepts the new accessory with feigned poise, not commenting on the flowers above his feline ears.

“Do you know where to go?” Yuuri asks as he mounts the demon, the flowers blocking his view inside his arms. He briefly considers asking Shinri to join them, to help with the orchids, but decides to let the lamia rest. She’d spent several hours guarding the boxes for him, after all.

Ginsaku growls in lieu of answering, and easily leaps into the air, crossing the distance quickly. Yuuri imagines that if someone were to see them, they’d look like nothing more than a passing shadow across the sky, or perhaps a particularly oddly shaped cloud. There is no sense of movement beyond the passing scenery, no wind pushing at him, the magic of the demon protecting them both from the whiplash of air.

Like this, riding on Ginsaku and bounding across the ocean, Yuuri thinks he might well be in Kou instead of Hasetsu. It’s a familiar scene and feeling, and it takes him back years, to when things were easier and simpler, before the harsh bite of reality asserted itself through war and loss.

“ _We’re here, Taiho_ ,” Ginsaku announces, faster than Yuuri had expected. They’re hovering in the middle of nowhere, a nonspecific spot over the ocean, the moon above them reflecting clearly in the surface of the water below them. The conditions are perfect – better than he could have asked for.

“Thank you, Ginsaku,” Yuuri acknowledges, voice somber and low.

There is no need for ceremony, so Yuuri simply opens his arms, allowing the orchids to flutter down to cover the reflection of the moon on the water, drifting through the air like a peculiar form of snow, gifted by the sky for the ocean alone. As the flowers touch the water, gathering together in a dizzying storm, the wind suddenly picks up, whipping wildly and twisting the calm surface into a raging typhoon for all of a second, before it stills, preternaturally silent. The flowers, the waves and the wind are all gone, as if they were never there. The wavering visage of the moon calms once more.

Above, still sitting on Ginsaku, now without the flowers to cover his view, Yuuri bows his head and mourns. Ginsaku remains still and silent like the sea, bending his own neck in respect.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything aloud, but allows his mind to drift through memories and feelings freely, remembering Senran as she was before the trouble, the simple farmer’s daughter with a free laugh and dimples on her cheeks. He reflects on the little time they had together, wonders if the orchids will reach Kou carried by the wind, or simply drift away into the Void Sea unnoticed by anyone.

They hover for a long while, minutes or hours, Yuuri can’t tell. Ginsaku remains a steady presence under him, unmoving and solemn, offering comfort without a word. After what feels like enough time has passed, Yuuri sighs audibly and lifts his head. He’s done what he came for – he’s offered his prayers and affection for Senran. Now it’s time to let go. Yuuri stares at the moon above, the one below glinting just within the edges of his vision and blinks his eyes to chase away the tears blurring his sight.

“Shinri, please take my clothes back to my room. Ginsaku, go with her. I’d like to spend a moment alone,” Yuuri breathes out quietly.

Shinri reappears, nimbly seating herself on the feline-bird demon, bowing her head. Yuuri nods at them both, and jumps off Ginsaku’s back, transforming mid leap, his clothes and glasses falling before being deftly caught by Shinri.

“We’ll be there when you’re ready, Taiho,” Shinri tells him, and then both she and Ginsaku are gone, bounding back towards Hasetsu, high above.

Yuuri considers himself, feels the way his being stretches and settles within the familiar confines of his primary self. As a kirin, he’s as black as his hair, but vibrant with the iridescence of thousands of almost ephemeral hues that sparkle and shine as he moves. He knows that his back is mottled with those colours, like a painting of a midnight sky speckled with stars and the glow of distant galaxies. Enki once said that he looked just like Taiki, except for his horn and mane – where the Taiho of Tai had a two-pronged horn, his has three, and his mane is a darker shade of ebony than Taiki’s. 

Flying through the sky is as easy as breathing, when he’s a kirin. He takes his time on the way back towards Hasetsu, feeling unhurried and somber. There’s much to remember, even without considering his former king. As his feet devour the distance, he lets his thoughts wander aimlessly. Seeing the beach is almost a shock, a confusing mix of unpleasant-relief, knowing that he’ll have to seal away this side of himself once more, for who knows how long. Perhaps for good.

It’s unpleasant, because this is a part of who he is, the other half of his being. Relief, because the memories are still overwhelming at times, because the responsibility and pressure and guilt are enough to drown a person. As his hooves touch down on the sand, he pauses to enjoy the feel of the waves lapping at them, before stilling upon hearing the sound of a bark from somewhere nearby.

Yuuri twists his neck, turning towards the sound and spies a brown shape bounding towards him. He recognizes it easily, having spent the past month in the dog’s company. If Makkachin is here, where’s Victor? There’s a brief thought of changing back, but his clothes will be back at the inn and he doesn’t fancy explaining why he’s at the beach so late at night and completely naked, to boot.

He hesitates, but Makkachin appears to be alone, so he remains still as the poodle finally reaches him and bounces excitedly around his equine form, whining and barking all the while. It’s clear the dog recognizes him, even like this, perhaps by his scent or something else that only the dog observes. Yuuri feels like smiling, despite his current inability to do so, and bows his head slightly to be closer to Makkachin’s level. The poodle rewards him by licking his snout, earning a surprised sputter from Yuuri.

“Makkachin!” a shout breaks their short standstill, and Yuuri startles, taking quick steps backwards, glancing around wildly.

A kirin would be a hard thing to explain away, even for Victor who seems happy to roll with whatever happens. Makkachin whines, clearly wanting to rush to the man calling for him, but hesitant to leave Yuuri.

“Makkachin, where’d you go? Did you find Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is closer this time, prompting Yuuri to action. If Victor’s looking for him, that means he knows he’s not in his room. Hopefully, he hasn’t told the rest of the family – Yuuri can just imagine their reaction to him disappearing without a word. He has to go back, fast.

Makkachin barks once, loudly, staring towards the direction of Victor’s voice, but not moving away from Yuuri’s nervously shifting form.

Yuuri curses quickly inside his mind as he spies Victor, appearing from behind the small food stall that’s only open during the summer, and quickly rears back and spins around, running away and desperately hoping he hadn’t been seen in the low light of the night. Makkachin barks after him, sounding confused and hurt by his perceived abandonment, but Yuuri has no time to spare for the poor dog. He has to get home.

“Makkachin, what-?” is all Yuuri hears from behind him, as he speeds away, blending in with the shadows of the clouds above.

 

When he gets to the hot springs, his window is still open, whether because he left it that way or thanks to his shirei, he’s uncertain. Shinri greets him from where she waits, sitting next to his bed on the floor. Ginsaku is on the bed, in the form of a small puppy with silvery fur. Yuuri is quick to transform, dismissing both of his shirei as he hastily pulls on some sleepwear and climbs under the sheets, burrowing into them and hoping to pretend to have been asleep this whole time. It won’t fly with Victor, of course, who apparently knows he wasn’t in his room, but hopefully it’ll fool the rest of his family, as long as they haven’t actually checked on him yet.

He’s been shivering from both the cold and the nerves for less than ten minutes when he hears his door creak open and the steady breathing of someone standing at the entrance to his room.

“He’s here, in the bed. Bloody hell it’s cold in here. Why’s the window open?”

It’s Mari, whispering to someone behind her back. Probably one of his parents, Yuuri thinks, as Mari tiptoes into the room to close the window above his supposedly sleeping form.

“I guess Victor didn’t notice him,” the voice of Yuuri’s mother remarks from the door, sounding distinctly relieved.

“Well, it is really dark in here so I can’t blame him,” Mari notes, as the door closes once more behind them both.

Yuuri releases a sigh, finally allowing himself to relax slightly. Crisis averted, for now. He’ll have to figure out something to tell Victor later, though – he doubts the man will accept the excuse of somehow missing his sleeping self on the bed.

Yuuri drifts off to sleep, feeling drained from the emotional rollercoaster of the day. He dreams of walking around Hasetsu, where it’s raining orchids and he has no umbrella. The orchids have thorns like roses which cut him as they fall, so that he’s covered in scrapes as his blood dyes the ocean a scarlet red. The moon above is silver and has no reflection on the waves lapping at his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. Sorry again (and let's all blame Enki)!
> 
> I've tried to explain most of the new stuff in the story, this time, but just in case here's a few words on some of the things covered in the chapter.
> 
> Kings: All kings in Twelve Kingdoms have a name they're called. For example, the king of En is Ever-king, the king of Kei is Glory-king, and the king of Kou is Naze-king. The king commonly receive differing nicknames posthumously; for example the previous king of Kou before Senran was called Saku-ou, a.k.a. "Foolish king" for his rule.
> 
> Lamia: All lamia have the last name "Haku", which is why both Sanshi and Shinri were called Haku Sanshi and Haku Shinri. Lamia, like shirei (which they eventually become), can dwell within their kirin, veiled until their presence is required or requested.
> 
> Kirin and previous Naze-King: As noted, each kingdom has a kirin. If the kirin is male, their name is the name of the kingdom with the suffix -ki, if female, the kingdom with suffix -rin. The kirin of Kou before Yuuri was Kourin, whose king had a rather short rule of 50 years and ended with Kourin suffering shitsudou because of his straying from the just path. Kou still feels the effects of that rule; he popularized the discrimination against kaikyaku (people brought over from Japan by a shoku) and half-beasts, seeing them as inferior or dangerous. Since Senran only lasted a few months, the kingdom has been suffering from the lack of a proper king for a long while.
> 
> Enki and Ever-King: Enki's story is covered in the novels, but he was a taika that didn't want to choose a king because he saw them as war-mongers that only brought destruction on the land. When he fled from his duty, he ended up encountering his future king Shoryu - the kirin tend to find their king whether they wish it or not, probably pulled by the hands of fate or Tentei, the Emperor of the Heavens. Shoryu's rule has lasted over 500 years, making him one of the most successful regents in Twelve Kingdoms.
> 
> Ginsaku: Ginsaku is a shapeshifter demon, also known as toutetsu. It's assumed that there's more than one kind of a shapeshifter, though, so it's entirely possible that Ginsaku is of a breed other than the one written about in records. Taiki was known as the only kirin to have one as their shirei - they're notoriously strong and thought impossible to pacify. With Yuuri, I suppose this makes it something of a black kirin legacy to have one ;)
> 
> As a reminder, Senran's name has "orchid" in it.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter, despite its length and the rather lengthy notes about TK lore.
> 
> I can't say enough how much I appreciate all the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and especially comments that you've left! They're the incentive that keep me going when the story feels too long and the writing gets tough. Thank you for all the love you've given the story so far!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are all kinds of love, not all of them sweet.

Yuuri takes to avoiding Victor, to the best of his abilities. He gets Minako to agree to him using her studio for ballet practice, which conveniently means he has no time for the ice. He knows he’ll have to go back eventually, that he can only keep up with the avoidance for so long – he’s a skater and he needs to start practicing whatever routine Victor’s come up with for his short. There are still months until the qualifiers in September but, depending on the difficulty of the program, months might not be enough.

By some careful maneuvering, he’s always out by the time Victor gets up, even though it means waking up ridiculously early and rushing through his breakfast in record time. He spends most of the day at the studio, taking breaks in-between training to watch some skating videos while stretching, so that he’s not completely removed from the true purpose. At least he’s getting to know his competition, this time.

Strangely, it’s Yurio who gets him to stop his new avoidance routine.

“Katsudon,” Yurio growls at him later that week, while he’s heading back to his room after a dip to the onsen to relax his overworked muscles.

“Katsudon?” Yuuri questions with a confused blink. He’s not sure why the boy is mumbling about food, but perhaps he’s hungry? Yurio ought to approach his mother, if that’s the case – Yuuri can cook, but he’s nowhere _near_ as good as his mother.

“That’s you. Katsudon,” Yurio bites out, like it explains everything. To Yuuri, it explains precisely nothing.

“Right,” he agrees hesitantly, anyway. He supposes it’s an improvement to ‘pig.’

“Why haven’t you been to practice? You think you’ll win so easily you don’t need it?” Yurio looks angry, which is surprising – he always looks angry, but somehow Yuuri can tell that he’s actually feeling it, this time.

“Uh, no – that’s not…”

What is he supposed to say? That he’s avoiding Victor like a coward, because he might have been sneaking out at night and he doesn’t know how to explain it? That he’s actually a divine beast from a different realm and it’s kind of difficult to keep on lying about something like that to someone he’s coming to care about?

Because he is. Starting to care about Victor, that is. He’s not sure what they are, right now, but he’s getting to know the older man better, learning about the Russian and his past while trying to reciprocate –  without giving away too much. There’s a disparity, there, a gap that he can’t bring himself to cross, and it’s putting a strain on their developing relationship that only Yuuri notices. He can’t stop feeling guilty about it, doesn’t want to have to lie to Victor’s face, so instead he’s avoiding him. Which solves nothing, really.

He’s always been good at avoiding his problems in the feeble hope that they might solve themselves before he has to deal with them.

“Right, whatever. I don’t know what your deal is, Katsudon, but you better show up to practice tomorrow or I’ll drag you there, myself,” Yurio says, pushing into his personal space, probably standing on the tips of his toes to be able to face him the way he is. “Also, talk to Victor. His whining is driving me nuts. I don’t want to murder him before he’s finished with teaching me my short program.”

The younger boy stalks away towards the baths without waiting for a reply, leaving Yuuri to stand in the hallway with his hair slowly soaking his T-shirt through, wondering when he became so pathetic that he needs a 15-year-old to talk some sense into him.

Yurio is right, though. It’s time for him to stop ignoring the elephant in the room and actually talk with Victor.

 

Yuuri approaches Victor later that day, after changing clothes and dealing with his hair. He’s hesitant to breach the sanctity of the older man’s room, but doesn’t want to put off the much-needed talk any longer than he already has.

Yuuri knocks on Victor’s door tentatively.

“Victor? Are you busy? I wanted to talk.”

There’s a nerve-wracking wait that can’t be longer than some seconds, before the door slides open and Victor is standing there in the green onsen robes, looking tired and less put-together than Yuuri has ever seen him before. The guilt is back with force, even though there’s no way of knowing if Yuuri’s even partly responsible for Victor’s weary appearance.

“Come in,” Victor says, stepping aside and wearily gesturing for him to enter.

Yuuri walks into the room and heads directly for the bed, where Makkachin is lying above the covers and greets his entrance with a thumping tail, too lazy to actually get up from her comfortable position on the mattress.

“Hey, Makkachin,” Yuuri tells the dog, sitting next to her and scratching her ears. A small woof answers him.

Victor closes the door behind himself, watching the pair of them from the door for a moment before coming to sit on the bed as well. He turns so that he’s facing Yuuri, one long leg curved on the bed, while the other rests over the edge, foot touching the floor. He looks expectant, making Yuuri swallow in an effort to control his nerves. He’s not good with confrontations.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri breathes out, relieved that he was actually able to voice the words struggling to get past his throat. “I’ve been avoiding you and skipping practice, and I know it’s not fair to you or Yurio or anyone, really. I didn’t mean to let it go on for so long.”

Victor is silent for a while longer, giving him time to continue in case he wants to add more. When it becomes apparent that Yuuri’s done, the older man turns fully, pulling both of his legs on the bed, tucking them under himself in order to face Yuuri properly.

“It’s fine, you can make up for it with more practice the next week. What I want to know, though, is _why_ you’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something?”

Yuuri twists his fingers, looking at his hands to avoid Victor’s forlorn expression.

“No, you didn’t do anything,” he says, words so quiet Victor moves closer to hear them. “It’s me. I’m – there’s something I can’t tell you, not yet, at least, and I’ve been avoiding you because I didn’t want to disappoint you. Or myself.”

Victor looks contemplative, reaching out to still Yuuri’s nervously twitching hands, easily covering them with his own, slightly larger ones.

“Yuuri – you don’t have to tell me everything, you know that, right? You said ‘not yet’, so maybe you’ll want to tell me at some point. Whatever it is, I can wait to hear it. If I’m making you feel pressured or uncomfortable, I want you to tell me so I can fix it or at least work on it. I don’t want you to avoid me for fear of talking to me.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles quietly, focusing on the differences between their hands. The fingers curled around his, holding them ever so gently, are slender, like a pianist’s. He wonders if the Russian could’ve been a successful musician, in a different life. Probably. He wouldn’t have settled for anything less than the best.

“I want to support you, but sometimes I’m not sure if I’m doing it right,” Victor sighs, looking disquieted. “What do you want me to be to you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise at the question and the uncharacteristic self-doubt. Victor always seems so sure of himself that it’s easy to forget that he doesn’t know all the answers either, that he’s still new to being a coach. Probably even new to being _anything_ to someone else, really, considering all the ways he hides behind flashy smiles and public personas.

“I want you to be yourself,” Yuuri tells Victor, confused but firm. “Why would you even ask that? I don’t want you to be anything other than yourself. I don’t want you to pretend to be something just because you think it’s what I need or want. That’s not how relationships work.”

Victor’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth twists upwards, the troubled look fading from his face like a memory. “Relationships? Are we in a relationship? I wish you had told me, Yuuri, I haven’t even taken you out on a date!”

Yuuri can feel the warmth from the flush rising to his cheeks like a blast of heat from a radiator.

“Victor! You know what I meant!” he practically wails, pulling his hands away from the comforting grip he had almost forgotten about. “A relationship doesn’t necessarily mean like _that_.”

Victor laughs, bright and easy, and Yuuri hides his own answering smile in his palms. It’s good to know he hasn’t ruined things between them.

 

* * *

 

 

Over There, they had a saying: “Names have power.” From Enki, Yuuri learned that while the inhabitants of the twelve kingdoms did not know the saying, they subscribed to the concept, nonetheless. It held especially true for the kirin.

The oracles had asked Enki to visit for a much more pressing reason than just teaching Yuuri about his kirin form or the history of their kind. That reason was his own protection – without shirei, Yuuri was vulnerable, something that could not be allowed with the fast-approaching summer solstice. According to the oracles, the people who made the pilgrimage were often of two kinds – either officials of good standing with high aspirations or those reckless and uneducated enough to think that seizing the kirin would be enough to make them the next king. The former, while often a drain on the sages’ temperaments and good will, were of a lesser concern than the latter. There had been incidents of particularly eager guests assaulting the kirin and their lamia in a foolish bid to capture the divine beast.

Most kirin had plenty of shirei, for they would learn how to pacify demons and gather them while growing up on Mount Hou and exploring Koukai, the Yellow Sea that surrounded the five central mountains. Enki, himself, had several shirei besides his lamia, Yokuhi. While the oracles were not eager for Yuuri to leave the safety of Brush-Jar Palace, they knew that there was little choice; the Reikon Gate would open in less than a week, and people were already starting to gather near it. They had no time to wait.

Enki and Yuuri made the trip to the borders of the Yellow Sea on the back of one of Enki’s shirei, a three-tailed demon resembling a wolf that Enki told him was called shouhi – this particular one was named Rikaku. While Yuuri had expected to find an ocean, based on the name of the area, what greeted him was a desolate land where there was little to no greenery to be found. It was unclear where the Yellow Sea began and the five mountains ended – there was little to distinguish the two, since the rocky feet of the mountain weren’t much different from the dry lands that made up most of the Koukai.

“It’s so… barren,” Yuuri muttered, staring at the desolation in front of them.

“Not what you expected?” asked Enki, hopping off Rikaku’s back with an ease that spoke of years of practice doing the very same thing.

“No,” Yuuri admitted, accepting the help in sliding down from the large wolf-demon’s back, himself. “I thought it’d be a sea, not a desert.”

“You’re not the first to assume that,” Enki told him cheerfully. “I haven’t been to the Koukai in a while, but it hasn’t changed one bit. Not that I’d be able to tell if it did, because all of it looks about the same – in this direction, at least.”

Yuuri had to agree – from what he could see (which was quite a bit, with hardly any elevation to block his vision far to the distant horizon), the yellowing ground spread in every direction with only the occasional, hardy bush breaking the monotony of the view. The name Yellow Sea was quite apt, despite the lack of any water.

“Right, so, here’s what we’ll do,” Enki began, picking a direction seemingly at random and starting to walk, leaving Yuuri with no choice but to follow. “You’ll stay close to me or Rikaku at all times – I’m sure your lamia will protect you if it comes down to it, but we don’t want to take any risks, right?”

Yuuri nodded to show his agreement.

“I’m going to show you how the thing works, pacify a minor demon so you can see how it’s done, and then we’ll try the same for you,” Enki continued without a pause.

“Can you explain how it works, first?” Yuuri asked hopefully.

“Man, I wish you could teach me how to do those puppy eyes,” Enki muttered in reply. “Would make getting away from all the busybodies at the court much easier.”

“Um.”

“It’ll be easier to explain if you’ve seen it first,” the other kirin told Yuuri, as if he hadn’t just spoken.

Yuuri shrugged in response, accepting the answer. Rokuta would know better than him, in any case.

It didn’t take them long to find a small creature akin to a centipede, scuttling along the ground and startling at the sight of the two kirin and the shirei. It was quick to react, spinning around to scamper away.

“Ugh, mushi. Not my first pick, but I guess it’ll do,” Enki groaned, before muttering something under his breath while making a few strange gestures with his arm, which made the fleeing creature halt mid-movement.

To Yuuri, it seemed like the wild demon and the kirin merely shared a glance, Enki mumbling something again and speaking one word louder, before the bug was scurrying over, settling docilely at their feet. Enki eyed it warily and inched away the slightest bit.

“That’s it?” Yuuri asked, feeling oddly disappointed.

“This thing is a small fry, so, yeah. That was pacification,” Enki nodded. “It’d be longer and more complicated with a higher-level demon, but mushi – like this guy here – are like comparing lizards to dragons, when it comes to demon-kind.”

The bug chittered, seemingly not minding that it was being bad-mouthed.

“It doesn’t speak?” Yuuri asked, kneeling to poke the bug curiously.

“Nah, the little ones can’t talk much. Some might know a word or two, like their own name.”

“What was it that you were doing when you, uh, pacified it?” Yuuri questioned, looking up from the bug that was now curling into a ball in response to the poking.

“That was the sign of the sword,” Enki explained, holding out his hand with the index and middle finger pointed straight ahead, his thumb angled to follow them, with the little and ring fingers curled flat against the palm. “You hold your hand like this and draw lines in the air, starting horizontally, nine times in total – five times to the side, four times downwards – while chanting ‘Rin, byou, tou, sha, kai, jin, retsu, zen, gyou.”

Yuuri watched and carefully memorized the gestures and the words. They seemed strangely familiar, though he had no idea where he could’ve seen them before.

“Make sure to keep your lines straight,” Enki cautioned, watching Yuuri repeat the gestures clumsily with his own hand.

“Now, you can pacify without the chant, but it does make things a bit easier and smoother,” the other kirin continued, grabbing Yuuri’s shoulders to straighten his posture and eyeing him critically before nodding in acceptance. “There’s other stuff you can do, too. Divination will help, but talk to the oracles to learn more about that – it’s dull, so we’ll skip it. Anyways, make sure to always stand straight and keep your posture good, annoying as that may be.”

Yuuri did his best to maintain the position Enki had forced him into, face set into a frown of concentration.

“Next, always breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.”

“Why?” Yuuri asked, puffing out a breath too heavily and only succeeding in making himself cough.

Enki made a face. “Complicated reasons, more stuff you should ask the oracles about. Something to do with dead and living spirit.”

The younger kirin frowned, but nodded to show he understood.

“Speaking of spirit,” Enki continued, nudging Yuuri to get him to start walking again, “you should always try to pacify demons before the noon, in the mornings – that’s when our spirit is the most alive.”

“What _is_ spirit?” Yuuri asked, confused.

Enki raised his eyebrows meaningfully, staring at the other boy.

“Oh, right. Ask the oracles. Sorry.”

“The sign of the sword is good for stopping demons from fleeing and starting the stare-down,” the golden-haired kirin noted, eyes busily scanning the surrounding scenery for signs of another demon. “But once it comes down to the battle of wills, you’re on your own.”

“Stare-down?” Yuuri questioned.

“When we pacify demons, we make a contract – the stare-down is basically a battle of spirit. The demon will judge your power and you will attempt to make it submit. The one who loses concentration first loses the fight.”

“That sounds… scary,” Yuuri noted, his voice filled with uncertainty. “What happens if I lose?”

“If you’re not sure you can win, you should flee before you meet eyes. Kirin are faster than most demons, so running away is a simple matter if you can change shape – but for now, you should rely on your lamia. She’ll keep you safe.”

Yuuri frowned. “But is that safe for Shinri?”

“She’ll tell you if she stands no chance,” Enki laughed. “Just keep your eyes and ears open and listen to her and you’ll be fine.”

Rikaku let out a sudden low growl from where he was placidly walking besides them. “ _A kingen, Taiho._ ”

Enki brightened up visibly. “Now that’s more like it! Thanks, Rikaku.”

Yuuri didn’t have time to ask what a kingen was – a sudden shadow passing over them had him raising his eyes towards the sky, where a large, dark-feathered bird was swooping down towards them.

“Do your best to stay quiet,” Enki warned as the bird approached. “And watch out for the tail, they’re poisonous. Rikaku!”

The shouhi replied with a growl, leaping into the air and onto the large bird’s back, bringing it crashing down to earth. Enki stepped forward, facing the bird struggling to free itself from Rikaku’s hold, but despite the wild thrashing the wolf-demon’s teeth and paws held firm.

Yuuri watched the other kirin lock eyes with the bird, its struggles suddenly ceasing and everything falling quiet as the battle of wills commenced. Oddly, he could feel the pressure as an almost tangible sensation in the air, neither of the contestants backing down an inch as the silence stretched. The younger kirin switched his focus to the kingen, observing it curiously.

The bird demon resembled an overly large chicken in its shape and crest, but its colouring was an abnormal shade bordering the line between black and brown. Its tail feathers looked disheveled but for one, which stood out with its knife-like shape and pale hue. That was probably the poisonous tail Rokuta had warned him about.

His attention was caught by Enki suddenly speaking again, a long, complicated chant ending with one, final word: “Touken.”

Rikaku jumped off the bird, landing next to the older kirin with languid indifference. The bird stood up, shaking its feathers, and ambled over to them, no longer bristling or aggressive in the least. Enki patted its beak once before turning to Yuuri with a posture that all but shouted ‘Tadah’ without words.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “Is that a ‘bigger fry’ than the one from before? What was that chant you did this time?”

 “Yeah, this guy’s a kingen – they’re vicious. The mushi from before would make nothing more than a snack for this one,” Enki said, patting the new shirei’s wing. “The chant was to finish the pacification – after the demon’s focus shifts, you’ll divine its name. By naming it, you bind it into your service and make it your shirei.”

“How did you know what to call it?” Yuuri asked, reaching to touch the feathers of the now docile bird-demon.

“It’s instinct – the name will appear in your mind when the demon surrenders. I didn’t give him the name – Touken is who he is.”

“But how does the contract work? You didn’t talk with each other,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Demon-beasts exist outside the Mandate of Heaven,” Enki explained, frowning as he tried to find the right words, slowly stroking the feathers of the patiently waiting kingen. “When we make a contract with them, the demon judges our power and if they find it worthy, they’ll submit to our service. We divine their name, and bind them with it, bringing them within the Mandate.”

“So, they’re like… criminals? And we make them follow the laws?” Yuuri asked, trying to understand.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. Probably not the first thing I’d think of, but if it works for you then go with it,” Enki shrugged. “What you have to keep in mind is that, after we die – and there’s no nice way of putting this – the shirei will eat our bodies, making our power their own. Basically, the contract is like an agreement. They serve us as long as we live, protect us with their lives, and when we eventually die, they gain the power they judged as their own.”

“They eat us?” Yuuri gasped, horrified.

“It’s a contract. It’s not that different from a normal business one, is it?” Enki asked, shrugging and seemingly at ease with the idea of being demon food after his passing. “You gain something, you give something. We’ll be dead, anyway, so it hardly matters what happens to us after, right? We get protection, they get power.”

“But… isn’t that somewhat dangerous? Like, if a demon gains the kirin’s powers and becomes a wild beast again, won’t they eventually be too powerful to control?”

“But then they won’t become a shirei anymore, since the kirin won’t be able to – and probably won’t even _try_ to – make them submit,” Enki pointed out. “There are some demons that kirin know not to even attempt to pacify, like the shape-shifters. Taiki had a toutetsu for a shirei, but he’s the first in the records – no one in their right mind would try to pacify one. Even Rikaku here took me over half a day to catch.”

“Half a day,” Yuuri muttered, amazed.

“Yup. Well, now that you know more or less what to do, want to give it a go yourself?”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri returns to practice without much fanfare, to the great relief of both his family and Minako-sensei, who goes as far as to promise free drinks at her bar to both him and Victor, whenever they want them, just as long as Yuuri never tries to use her as a prop for avoidance _ever again_.

“And I mean it,” Minako reminds Yuuri, trying to scowl fiercely at him as he passes her table on his way to the Ice Castle. Judging by the number of empty bottles covering her chosen spot at their inn, she’s well on her way to getting drunk, which might explain the less than successful attempt at scolding him.

“Sure,” Yuuri agrees distractedly, busy with trying to get his shoes on without dropping the bag containing his skates and training gear. “Look after Makkachin, will you?”

Said poodle woofs happily and jumps on Minako’s back as if guessing the topic of the conversation, squashing the poor ballet instructor under her weight and sending several – thankfully empty – bottles skittering across the tatami mats.

 

When Yuuri gets to the skating rink, he has to quickly dodge the doors that almost hit him in the face as they’re thrown open by a furious Yurio, who strolls past him without a greeting, ranting something about waterfalls of all things. Yuuri watches his fuming back disappear down the road, then shrugs and heads on inside.

“Victor?” he calls out for his coach, before spotting him idly skating circles on the ice.

“Oh, Yuuri! Good timing, Yurio just left!” Victor calls back, skating to the divider to watch Yuuri put on his skates.

“Yeah, I saw him coming in – he seemed to be in a… mood.”

Victor laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, he’s just angry that he still hasn’t figured out the concept of agape.”

“Agape?” Yuuri asks curiously, finishing tying off his skates and standing up to join Victor on the ice.

“His short program – I’ve got yours ready, too, if you’d like to see it?”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinks in surprise, pausing in the midst of taking off his skate guards, then reversing the progress and putting them back on. “I’d love to!”

“Great!” Victor exclaims, clapping his hands together decisively. “Start the music for me, would you?”

Yuuri heads to the controller, turning to glance at Victor to make sure he’s ready before hitting play. His coach nods from the center of the ice, so he presses play and hurries back to the edge of the ice to see what he’ll be skating to, this season.

The short program is stunning, to summarize it. Full of complicated footwork and increasingly difficult jumps, most of which seem to be near the end of the program for some reason. It’s a program geared for someone with stamina and good technical control. It’s also undeniably erotic.

“So, what do you think?” Victor asks after he finishes, gliding back to the side Yuuri is standing at, still slightly breathless from the performance.

“Um,” Yuuri offers, blushing furiously. “It’s very. Yes.”

Victor beams at him, seeming to understand his floundering, deriving some sort of meaning from it, which is good because Yuuri really has no words to describe his thoughts right now.

“The song is On Love: Eros. I think it’s perfect for you!” Victor tells him cheerily.

“Right,” Yuuri replies dryly. “Perfect.”

“You don’t think so?” Victor asks, all innocent dismay, complete with a perfectly measured tilt of his head.

Yuuri stares at him, deadpan, but Victor refuses to relent, expression not twitching one bit.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri finally sighs, giving up. “It looked great.”

“Good! Let’s see how you do with it, then!”

 

How Yuuri does with it is best left unmentioned. While he has no real issues with the footwork – though he’ll have to work on polishing it, practice it until he’ll be able to perform it in his sleep – and the jumps will come with yet more practice, the concept avoids him. There’s nothing sexy about the way he skates the song, and Victor seems to be aware of it if his slightly strained expression is any implication.

“That was good,” Victor tells him from the boards, where he’s taking a break to drink some water while watching Yuuri attempt different parts of his choreography, by turns. “Your free leg was sloppy and that landing could’ve been better, and I’m still failing to see any ‘eros’ in there, but it was better than the previous one!”

Yuuri groans, but heads to where Victor is standing, eager for his own water bottle, which Victor hands to him without prompting.

“How am I supposed to convey eros anyway?” Yuuri complains. “I don’t even know what it _means_!”

Victor blinks at him. “You don’t know the word?”

“No, I know the definition,” Yuuri assures. “I just – how am I supposed to make people think of eros, make them look at me and think ‘sexy’, when it’s _me_ skating to the song?”

Victor frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m hardly what anyone would call sexy,” Yuuri points out.

Victor pauses in taking a sip of water, then slowly lowers his water bottle back down, his smile turning oddly fixed and dangerous. Yuuri swallows down his own mouthful of water through a suddenly tight throat, coughing a little to clear up his struggling airways.

“Ah- I mean- Um, I should go see how Yurio’s doing,” he says nonsensically, despite having no idea where the younger Russian even is, but determined to follow up with the first words to pop out of his mouth anyway. He smiles hopefully as he backs up a step from the placid figure that’s causing his mind to scream danger-danger-danger in an increasingly high pitch.

His escape is stopped before it has a chance to begin, with a firm hand that latches around his biceps like a shackle.

“No, no, I’m sure Yurio’s fine,” Victor assures him, still smiling the same horrifying smile. “Let’s go back to what you were saying just before.”

Yuuri glances around wildly for a distraction, anything that might give him a chance to get away. Sadly, nothing jumps forward or presents itself with a tag saying ‘use me.’ Yuuri’s shoulders slump in defeat, then draw up again in resolve as he gathers all the strong-headed willpower that took him through countless hours of studying and got him a scholarship in a college in Detroit, refusing to back down from Victor.

“What I’m saying,” Yuuri bites out, jaw set and meeting Victor’s eyes straight on, “is that where you and Yurio could get away with it, what with your looks and charisma, I’m as plain as they come. I’m not exactly eye-catching.”

He thinks he deserves a medal for not looking away once during his little speech, despite the way Victor’s expression wavers and his smile grows more strained.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes out, his face settling into a look of sadness. “I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re not, I quote, ‘sexy,’ but I can assure you that that’s as far from the truth as you can get. You are so beautiful and alluring there are no words for it in this world. All you lack is confidence.”

Yuuri can only stand and stare, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“Do you hear the words that come out of your mouth?” he asks incredulously.

Victor sighs and shakes his head, apparently giving up on the topic for now.

“We’ll come back to that later,” the Russian glares at him, daring him to disagree. “For now, let’s talk about your free skate.”

Yuuri blinks at the change of subject, trying to switch mental tracks to keep up. “My free skate?”

“Your free skate,” Victor agrees, finally letting go of Yuuri’s arm. “You’re an amazing skater – you have the technical skills and the ability and your PC scores are some of the best out there. What you lack, right now, is more jumps in your arsenal and the right kind of passion.”

“Passion?” Yuuri questions.

“How did you go about designing your programs with your previous coach?” Victor asks, ignoring the question.

“Um, Celestino usually picked the song and either did the choreography himself or got someone to do it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Victor nods. “Have you ever picked your own music or chosen the elements for your programs?”

“…No.”

Victor looks like he expected the answer, simply nodding once more to acknowledge it before moving on.

“It shows in your skating. While you’re beautiful technically – though not perfect – and your step sequences are amazing, your skating lacks passion.”

Victor moves past Yuuri, pulling off his skate guards to step back on the ice of the rink, skating backwards and away from the younger man.

“I think,” the Russian continues, spinning in spot, “that you’re the kind of skater that wears his heart on his sleeve, so to say.”

Yuuri watches quietly as the Russian moves into a routine he easily recognizes from all the times he’s watched it or skated it himself – Stammi Vicino, though without the accompanying music and slowed down into something gentler, softer.

“Figure skating is a performance art,” Victor tells his audience of one, and the words carry easily over the silence of the rink, “but you can’t perform something without feeling it.”

The swish of blades on ice stops as Victor comes out of a spin, turning to look at Yuuri expectantly. “For some, they can pretend convincingly enough, even without experience. Some can produce the right feeling on a whim. But for you, Yuuri, I think you need to really feel something to express it.”

“Why did you really give me Eros?” Yuuri blurts out, the first thing that comes to his mind. If what Victor is saying is true – if Yuuri can only perform what he feels, what he knows, why would the Russian craft a program about sexual love for a man that clearly lacks any experience of it?

“Because,” Victor says carefully, watching for his reaction, “I want you to step out of your comfort zone. I think your free program should reflect you, but the short should be something you can explore and discover, something that will surprise both the audience and _yourself_.”

Yuuri wonders when he stepped out of reality and into a bizarre late-night drama. Is Victor really telling him to explore sexual love and then exhibit the results for the whole world to see?

“I want you to produce your own free program,” Victor forges ahead, apparently sensing the less-than-flattering direction Yuuri’s thoughts are fast headed down. “Figure out what you want to express, find the right music and come up with some components. We can hammer out the details together, but the program should be an expression of _you_.”

Yuuri remains quiet for a moment that feels like it stretches longer than it could possibly last. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

Victor smiles for him, seemingly understanding his need for some distance and time to digest without Yuuri having to explain it in more detail. “Sure. Take the rest of the day off. We’ll continue working on Eros tomorrow.”

Yuuri nods and steps off the ice, tugging his skate guards on, before sitting down to swap his skates for his shoes. Victor watches him quietly from the ice, not moving to follow, giving him the space he needs. It’s why Yuuri pauses after swinging his bag on, feeling gratitude bubble up inside him like a newly unearthed spring, cool and refreshing and sharp.

“Thank you,” he tells Victor. “I’ll see you at the onsen.”

It’s not enough, but he hopes it conveys what he’s trying to say clearly enough. That he’s thankful for Victor, for his understanding, for meeting him where he is. That he’ll think, sort himself out, but he’ll be back soon as he done. It’s an apology and ‘please wait for me’ and gratitude, all in one.

Victor doesn’t say anything, but he smiles and Yuuri knows he understands.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Yuuri would not gain his first shirei until after the first hopefuls reached the outer limits of Brush-Jar Palace. For the next few weeks, Yuuri was expected to descend from the familiar scenery of the palace with a retinue of oracles, to face those wishing to present themselves to the kirin at the Meadow-Path Villa, which was located just outside the gate preventing people from entering the grounds of Brush-Jar Palace.

Those foolish or stubborn enough to brave the dangers of the Koukai converged at the foot of the mountain upon making it across the vast expanse of the Yellow Sea, then made their way through the outer labyrinth to set up temporary dwellings near the gate. While the gate the kirin and the oracles would pass through was not guarded by a sacred beast, like the four gates of order that bordered the Yellow Sea, none would dare attempt to enter through them. The bar which the oracles would lift on passing was mostly for show – anyone foolish enough to breech the sacred ground of Mount Hou uninvited would surely face swift and just punishment, either by the Dowager of the West or by the Heavens, themselves.

While Yuuri had known to expect crowds of people, the changed scenery near the Meadow-Path Villa still managed to surprise him; almost overnight, the plain, rocky cropping had changed from a deserted mountain slope into a bustling village of colourful pavilions and tents. There were all manner of mount-beasts and horses tethered to temporary poles driven deep into the earth. The loudness of the improvised town was almost overwhelming after the peaceful silence that was the norm for the dwellers of Hohzan.

When the people noticed the group of oracles in their midst, surrounding a small form that was surely the current Lord of Brush-Jar Palace, an unnatural hush fell over the previously boisterous gathering. Yuuri wished desperately for Shinri’s comforting presence, but he had been told to keep the lamia veiled when not in private. Supposedly, this was both to protect her and to avoid startling the people, who would react poorly to an apparent demon-beast among them.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Youka whispered from his right side, as they walked through the crowd parting around them like a peculiar curtain, all of them kneeling down low as the oracles and the kirin passed them. “We’ll reach the villa soon. After you offer incense, you’ll be able to relax behind the partitions, out of sight of the people here.”

“They won’t be able to see me?” Yuuri asked nervously.

“No, but you’ll be able to observe them. The space was designed for that purpose – you’re expected to spend a lot of time there, after all, so it would be foolish to not allow for relaxation.”

“Can I call Shinri when we get in, then?”

“Yes,” Youka laughed quietly, “you can call her soon as we lower the screens. Just make sure to dismiss her if you wish to walk around yourself.”

This bit of information surprised Yuuri. “I don’t have to stay inside?”

“No, you’re free to wander around if that is your wish,” Youka assured him. “People may approach you to pay their respects, but most will keep their distance while you’re not observing the ceremonies, unless you choose to speak to them first.”

That greatly relieved Yuuri – he hadn’t been sure he would be able to stay still through a whole day of sitting quietly in one spot. With raised spirits, he followed the sages to the entrance of the Meadow-Path Villa, a building that stood out from the rest of the structures on Mount Hou for the simple fact that it had four walls, rather than the typical open design of the various pagodas around Brush-Jar Palace. The oracles and the kirin were expected to offer incense at the altar before retiring to the side, where a place had been prepared for them to observe the ceremonies. After the kirin, the visitors were free to offer incense as well, and to greet the divine beast from behind a partition.

There would be no incense offered that day, however, for they had hardly stepped one foot inside the villa when screams erupted from further away, among the rocky paths that surrounded the temporary village set-up. The oracles reacted swiftly, gathering around the young kirin, some hurrying towards the commotion while others rushed to reopen the gate of Mount Hou in order to bustle their small lord back to safety.

“What? What’s going on?” Yuuri asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” Youka replied, eyes sharp and her features alert. “It could be nothing, but it could be an attack of some kind. We must get you to safety – the ceremony can wait for tomorrow.”

“But people are screaming,” Yuuri pointed out, worried and nervous. “Don’t we need to help them?”

“I know your nature as a kirin means you wish to help all that you can,” Youka told him gently, persistently shepherding him back towards the open gate and the awaiting oracles, “but we must consider your safety first and foremost. The kirin is the most important person within a kingdom, right after the king. Your protection is the duty of all the people gathered here today.”

Yuuri frowned, digging his heels into the ground and forcing the oracles clustered around him to a sudden stop.

“But what about the people?” he demanded, refusing to move.

The screams had been a steady sound in the background, but suddenly they erupted closer than before, as something large and fast leaped out of the crowd, bringing with it a sudden splattering of red.

“It’s a kyuuki!” someone shouted, as yet more cries arose, the word demon-beast carried through the air from all directions. Several men and women hesitated, before drawing their weapons and rushing to meet the rampaging beast, pushing cowering servants and less well-equipped people to safety behind them. It appeared to be a futile effort; the demon was both massive and agile, easily dodging all swipes of the weapons aimed at it, roaring loudly as it batted the attackers away like insects. The air was heavy with the scent of blood.

“What is it doing here?” one of the oracles demanded, her voice high and furious. “Demons don’t come this close to the palace!”

“Someone or something must have led it here,” another oracle replied, “but we have no time to worry about that. We must get Master Kouki back to Brush-Jar Palace.”

Yuuri was terrified, and the smell of blood was making him feel sick – but the cheerful village around him had devolved into a chaos of terror and pain, the people running around heedlessly, desperate to get away. He could see the oracles holding firm against the crowd, not allowing them to enter through the gate and into the safety of inner Mount Hou. If he allowed the oracles to take him back within Brush-Jar Palace, what would happen to all the people out here? Would he come back tomorrow to find the ground dyed red with blood, a macabre scene of strewn body parts and headless corpses?

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that were to happen.

Yuuri slipped away from the group of sages, thanking his small stature as he bent low and slithered through a small gap between two of the women surrounding him.

“Kouki!” he heard Youka shouting after him, her voice scared. “Shinri, stop him!”

Just like that, Shinri was there, reaching out to catch him in her arms, but Yuuri dodged around her and then it was too late.

The demon-beast, a creature akin to an enormous grey-black tiger with glaring blood-red eyes and two large wings, was right in front of him and nothing aside from a shifted kirin would have had the speed to snatch him and evade its strike, should it choose to attack the small boy stood in front of it.

“Kouki!” Shinri cried out from behind him, not daring to move but desperate to get to her charge.

Yuuri didn’t listen, just held out his hand as Enki had taught him, repeating the slashing gestures he had practiced for days, along with the words that went with them: “Rin byou tou sha kai jin retsu zen gyou!”

The scene of carnage stilled, the screams slowly petering out as the people understood what was going on. It was too late to try to stop the kirin – for him to lose concentration now would mean a victory for the demon and a likely death to them all.

Behind the two contestants, who stood still like statues, staring at each other without blinking, those still able to walk began to slowly and quietly gather up the injured, moving them away from the kirin and the demon to seek treatment closer to the gate. The oracles brought out supplies from within the gate, treating the worst of the injured while keeping a watchful eye on the kirin and his opponent. They were aware there was little to be done – either Kouki would win or he would lose, and there was nothing that they could offer to change the outcome, nothing to be done should either of these happen. If the kirin won, they would continue treating the wounded and escort him back to safety. Should he lose, they would be forced to flee back to Brush-Jar Palace themselves, abandoning all the people to their fates.

Youka was quiet, keeping a vigil next to the shivering form of Yuuri’s lamia, entrusting the injured to the other oracles. Should it become necessary, she would throw herself between the beast and the kirin, even with what little chance there was of her succeeding in protecting him. It was an unvoiced understanding that Shinri would do her best to get Yuuri out of there while Youka served as a bait to the demon-beast.

The stare-down continued well into the day, the sun slowly reaching its highest point in the sky, then starting its descent towards the west. The oracles were muttering to each other in low voices, growing more worried as the sun dipped lower. It was well past the best time for pacification – as the day grew longer, the demon would grow stronger and the kirin weaker. The odds were heavily leaning towards the tiger-beast, freshly feasted on humans and spirits lifted by the late evening. A bead of sweat rolled down Yuuri’s face, plopping quietly against the ground to join others, shed through the sluggishly stretching hours.

Youka was beginning to lose hope when Yuuri suddenly moved, speaking loudly and clearly: “Shinchoku meichoku, tensei chisei. Jinkun seikun, fuo fudaku. Kimi koubuku, onmyou wagou. Kyuukyuu nyo ritsurei. Shourai!”

The previously bristling and quietly growling demon-beast suddenly quieted down, relaxing its aggressive posture to pad over to Yuuri’s side, docile as a kitten. The kirin breathed out a heavy sigh, almost unable to believe he had succeeded – the people were safe, the threat was past. The demon-beast wouldn’t attack anyone now, at least not without being commanded, and there was little chance of him telling it to do so. Yuuri reached out a hand to scratch the tiger-like animal’s chin, earning a purring growl for his effort.

“ _Taiho_ ,” the beast acknowledged him, seeming to have lost all of its previous hostility.

“Oh, you can talk,” Yuuri said, slightly surprised. He supposed it made sense, considering its size and ferocity – this was clearly one of the higher end demons, not like the small mushi he had encountered with Rokuta.

“Kouki!” Shinri called out from behind him, almost teleporting to him and quickly pulling him into a tight embrace. Besides them, the newly named Shourai sat down on its haunches, unaffected by the glower the lamia directed towards him.

“Thank the Emperor you are alright,” Youka breathed out, approaching them at a slower pace. “I was starting to think we’d be left waiting for a new ranka to appear!”

“Sorry,” Yuuri told both the oracle and his lamia contritely. “I didn’t mean to cause any worry. I just couldn’t let any more people get hurt.”

Shourai yawned wide, unapologetic and uninterested. Youka glanced at the newly-minted shirei, sighing and shaking her head. Trust the kirin to create no end of headaches for their caretakers!

“What’s done is done,” the oracle told them. “Now let’s get you back to your rooms – all this blood can’t be good for your health. The others will look after everyone here, so you can rest at ease.”

The next day, Yuuri woke up feverish, likely because of his prolonged exposure to the blood. Kirin were weak to the substance in varying degrees – some would get sick at just the thought of it, while others could even handle being touched by blood without being affected to a larger degree. The oracles forbade him from going down to the Meadow-Path Villa, even though he wanted to make sure the people down at the paths were alright. When he was finally declared healthy enough to venture down, his reappearance was greeted with a massive cheer and tearful gratitude from all the survivors of the camp. Despite the rather unfortunate circumstances, the pilgrims would bring back stories of a young, noble kirin with hair as black as the darkest of nights, and compassion and kindness larger than such a small stature should be able to hold.

 

* * *

 

A week after the reveal of Eros, Yuuri’s new short program, Yurio finally heads back to Russia and his actual coach, Yakov, whom the Japanese skater only knows as the angry, loud voice at the other end of Victor’s and Yurio’s phones. According to Victor, Yurio has yet to grasp the idea of Agape – but he needs to get back and start working on his free skate, so there’s not much choice but to continue honing the concept with his original coach. Victor assures both Yuuri and Yurio that Yakov is up to the task. Yurio shows his gratefulness for the comforting words with a one fingered salute, but Yuuri can tell he appreciates it from the way his mouth tugs upwards slightly.

“See you at the GPF, Katsudon. I hope you’re ready to lose,” Yurio tells Yuuri at the parking lot of Yu-topia, where everyone is gathered for the goodbye. The cab driver is taking advantage of the wait with a smoking break some ways away.

“Have a safe trip,” Yuuri replies, smiling with true feeling. He’s gotten used to and even become fond of the younger skater, who comes off as prickly and temperamental but has a very well hidden caring side somewhere deep inside.

“ _I still don’t like him_ ,” the voice of Ginsaku echoes in his mind, with a distinctly disgruntled undertone. Yuuri sighs but lets the comment go.

Feeling a bit mischievous, the kirin steps forward while Yurio is distracted by a teary-eyed Yuuko, throwing his hands around the Russian teenager and squeezing hard. Yurio splutters, understandably taken off guard, and tries to squirm free of the strangling hug Yuuri has him in. Victor chokes on his laughter and quickly whips out his phone to take pictures.

“What the fuck, Katsudon! Let me go!” Yurio hollers, turning steadily redder as his struggling intensifies. “Victor! Stop taking pictures and get him off me!”

Victor finally gets his laughter under control enough to snap a few less shaky photos, then puts away his phone to come help Yurio get free from the clutches of his student. Yuuri lets go with minimal fuss, smiling all the while. The hug had been surprisingly nice, for all Yurio’s struggling – he hadn’t been working on getting himself free nearly as viciously as the Japanese skater had half expected.

“I’m going before someone else gets any more weird ideas,” Yurio mutters, grabbing his luggage with his cheeks flushed a furious pink. The cab driver hurriedly stubs out his cigarette and returns to the car, taking care to put Yurio’s bags in the trunk for safekeeping.

“See you later, Yura!” Victor shouts as if the other Russian were already across the ocean, rather than only a few steps away. Yurio waves his hand irritably, but doesn’t roll up the open backseat window.

“See you, Yuri,” Yuuri tells him, as well. Yurio still looks flushed, but he nods the slightest bit and manages what might be a smile.

“Thanks for the shirt, Katsudon,” the young Russian says, surprisingly quietly for his loud personality, then rallies again. “You better not lose to anyone else before I get to kick your ass!”

Yuuri laughs and waves as the car rumbles into life and rolls backwards slightly, before making a turn and heading for the exit. Everyone else who’s there to see Yurio off – namely, the Nishigoris, Yuuri’s family, and old man Yamakawa-san who bonded with Yurio over old cars of all things – wave and shout their goodbyes as well. Yuuri sees a hand emerge from the open car window, waving at them once, before the vehicle turns to the main road and disappears behind the fencing of the inn.

“I hope he comes to visit again,” Mari says wistfully, looking a bit forlorn. Yuuri eyes her with some trepidation, noting the suspicious object she’s clutching in her hand.

“I forgot to ask him to sign my limited edition Takao-fan,” she continues with a sigh.

Yuuri groans. So she still hasn’t given up on that.

 

 

Practice doesn’t change much after Yurio’s departure, though they can now spend more time at the rink, which is definitely working to improve his skating. Victor makes sure he still spends some time at Minako’s studio every week, though, for the benefit of both the fine degree of body control it helps him with, and keeping up the level of flexibility he has trained so long to achieve.

Victor remains quiet about his lack of progress with Eros, not pressuring Yuuri about it, but clearly still thinking about ways to improve his performance. The kirin half dreads to see what his coach will come up with. In the meanwhile, they’re focusing on improving the technical elements of the short for now, along with discussing Yuuri’s ideas for his free skate.

“I have a story I want to tell,” Yuuri explains to Victor, who’s clearly exhausted after showing him the quad loop for the 11th time.

“Really?” Victor pants, bent over double and sweaty, but straightening his posture to give his full attention to Yuuri. “Go ahead, I’m sure we can take a little break for this.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Yuuri replies, his innocent tone betrayed by the knowing twist of his lips.

“Don’t get too sassy,” Victor scolds him half-heartedly, but returns the smile easily with one of his own.

“Eros is a program about sexual love,” Yuuri starts, gliding to a stop next to Victor, who’s leaning against the boards but keeping his eyes on the Japanese man. “I don’t want my free to overlap with Yurio, so I know it can’t be about _just_ agape. But…”

Yuuri thinks of love and what it means to him, what he’s come to realize despite how long it’s taken him to get here. Love has so many forms, not all of them pleasant or selfless. As a kirin, he came to learn the kind of deferential love people have for their idols and those they hold above themselves. It’s a selfish sort of love, often one-sided and unforgiving. The people of Kou adored their kirin, but the adoration was a cold one; they loved the symbol he was, respected him only for what he could give them. There was nothing personal in their love, and it was a love easily soured.

But that wasn’t the only kind of love he had received as a kirin. The oracles of Mount Hou adored him like a child or a younger sibling, even while respecting him as their lord and master. It was a firm, protective sort of love, one that sheltered him without suffocating, sought to let him learn through experience and the inevitable mistakes. It was this love that made him realize the love his family had showed him, back Over There, made him realize that he _had_ been loved. He just hadn’t paid it any attention before then.

If the sages had loved him like family, Shinri loves him like her everything. To Shinri, Yuuri is all she has – he is her world. He knows it’s programmed into her very being. She’s known him from the moment of her birth. Without doubt, he was her first thought, and her first word. She would have raced to his side immediately upon hatching from her ranka, deep underground on the roots of the Shashinboku. It’s an oppressive love, but a warm one; it burns bright and searing and will remain the same until the very end.

Yuuri has never known romantic or sexual love. He’s a kirin, so there’s been little time to even think of it. A kirin’s life is devoted to their king, from their hatching to their death. A kirin must always put their king first, must be ready to give their very lives for them – they can never disobey an order from their monarch. And if the king were to lose the Way, it’s the kirin who bears the consequences, often in death.

In retrospect, even without his memories, Yuuri had subconsciously avoided any kinds of bonds with others, obviously burnt by his experiences in the other realm. It’s credit to Phichit’s determination and strength of character that they had managed to become friends despite Yuuri’s best efforts to the contrary. Senran, Rokuta and Phichit are what he thinks of now, when he thinks of the kind of love that is shared between friends.

“Yuuri?” Victor prompts him, sounding concerned. Yuuri startles and realizes he’s been quiet for too long.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I got lost in my thoughts.”

“You’re not getting sick again, are you?” Victor asks, half joking, but he’s still eyeing Yuuri with obvious concern.

“No, no,” Yuuri hastens to assure his coach, “I’m healthy as ever. Just thinking, I swear.”

He looks away from Victor, choosing to stare through the windows at the nondescript sky outside, instead. It’s difficult to dress his thoughts in words, to give the abstract concepts within him a tangible shape, but he has to try.

“I want to tell a story of realizing that you’ve been loved and supported by everyone around you, but only after you’ve lost it all. A story of discovering new love and support, and realizing that there are things you can’t do alone, that there’s nothing to fear in loving and being loved. That even after losing it all over again, there are things that can be gained, new experiences and new love waiting.”

Victor listens quietly and Yuuri feels his contemplative gaze like a brand against his skin. It’s both frightening and reassuring, the feel of the Russian’s full attention on him.

“It’s a good story,” Victor agrees, breaking the comfortable silence slowly settling over them. “Now we just have to find the right music and choreograph a program that does it the justice it deserves.”

“I might have an idea for the music,” Yuuri admits, thinking of Phichit and the girl from Detroit who had lacked the younger skater’s obstinacy in sticking around through his cold shoulder and emotional distance. “There’s someone I’d like to ask about it.”

“Oh? An original piece?” Victor seems intrigued, but thankfully doesn’t press for more details. He stretches his arms up in the air, instead, bending backwards and groaning when there’s an audible pop from somewhere around his spine.

“Never get old, Yuuri,” he tells his student mournfully. “It sucks.”

“You’re not old,” Yuuri laughs at him outright. “Stop being so melodramatic.”

“Me? Melodramatic?” Victor cries, covering his mouth in faux shock. “Just for that you can show me how well you’ve grasped the quad loop by now!”

“Fine, fine,” Yuuri agrees readily, skating back towards the center of the ice and away from Victor, catching a disgruntled mutter of something to do with ‘stamina’ from behind him.

He skates around for a while to build up the speed, thinking of all the things he paid attention to when Victor was showing him the jump earlier. He knows, in theory, the way it’s supposed to be executed – he’s done it before, though his rate of success is somewhat low, still. He tends to either flub the landing or over rotate the jump, itself. He gathers his concentration and focuses on the whole of his body, preparing for the jump.

Yuuri knows something is wrong the moment his feet kick him into the air, something feeling off about the movement, a flaw that has nothing to do with his form or the power behind the jump. There’s a split second to consider damage-control, but there is little you can do after you’re already in the air – he can only finish the rotations and hope that he manages to limit the damage when he lands.

The flaw is there again when his skates touch down, though, and he can feel the give the moment the harsh clap of a bad landing echoes through the rink. He automatically protects his head and just rolls with the movement, knowing better than to try to stop himself with an arm or a foot – that way lies broken limbs and a season spent recovering instead of competing. He comes to a stop and blinks at the ceiling above him, feeling dazed.

“Yuuri!” Victor is suddenly there, above him. “Does anything hurt? Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Um,” Yuuri blinks again, trying to keep up, “an ambulance? No, no- I’m fine, I don’t think I broke anything.”

He moves to sit up, only to be stopped by Victor’s hand on his chest.

“You shouldn’t move, don’t they always tell people not to move the victim?” Victor babbles, looking slightly hysterical. Yuuri feels mostly incredulous.

“Victor,” he tries, but it produces no pause in the stream of words, so he tries again louder. “Victor!”

His coach jumps a little, but stops talking and focuses on Yuuri, so he’ll take that as a win.

“I’m fine,” he tells the Russian man firmly, willing him to believe him with his eyes. “I’m not a victim – I just had a fall. I fall all the time, you know that.”

Victor has the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but then regains his resolve and frowns at Yuuri, full of disapproval. “I know falling is unavoidable, but there can be serious damage done, as well, and that fall looked pretty bad. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Yuuri concedes the point with a nod and takes a moment to assess his own body, trying to see if anything feels particularly painful or numb. Naturally, he’s aching all over from both the long practice and the no-doubt countless bruises he’s given himself – he’ll probably be black and blue all over by tomorrow – but his neck feels alright, all things considered, as does his back, which is the most important part.

“I think I’m okay,” he tells Victor after a long pause spent considering.

Victor is still frowning, but he lifts the hand stopping Yuuri from moving and instead helps the other man to sit up, slowly and with great care.

“Still okay?” the Russian mother-hen confirms every step of the way, as if sitting up is a chore comparable to climbing a mountain.

“I’m fine, Victor,” Yuuri tells for the tenth time, exasperated and starting to lose patience with his overbearing coach. Just to prove his point, he moves to stand up, only to hiss and flop right back on his bottom.

“Yuuri!” Victor yelps, bracing him to prevent further damage from the minor fall. “I should have called an ambulance after all!”

Yuuri just groans, wondering what he did to deserve this, then has to act fast to restrain Victor who’s frantically digging around for his phone, most likely to call for the aforementioned emergency service in an award-worthy example of an overreaction.

“Victor, no,” Yuuri says, feeling like he’s talking to Makkachin. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m pretty sure nothing’s broken. We just need to get my skates off so I can have a look at my foot.”

“Your foot?” Victor asks, looking like he’s close to panicking again, before standing up and then bending over in a weird position. Yuuri’s question is answered before he can give it voice, when Victor scoops him up from the ice and heaves him into a princess carry, somehow managing to not lose his balance or his hold of Yuuri in the process. Yuuri yelps and almost kicks Victor in the face before getting his knee-jerk reaction under control.

“Victor…”

The Russian ignores his groan and just continues as he was, quickly reaching the boards and walking stiffly and carefully on his blades to one of the seats near the rink entrance. Yuuri doesn’t even want to think of the kind of damage he’s doing to the blade edge, and opts instead to focus on the feel of his feet inside his own pair of skates.

As Victor sets him down on the bench, Yuuri bends at the waist to get a good look at his feet, immediately seeing the cause of his fall.

“Oh,” he murmurs, reaching to touch the edges of his skates with tender caution. Victor follows his eyes and clicks his tongue.

“Yuuri,” he says, voice strained. “Why haven’t you gotten new skates yet?”

Yuuri flushes. “I didn’t – I didn’t realize they were getting so worn.”

It’s not a good defense, and he knows it. He should’ve noticed that the skates were getting too worn for use, all but fraying at the edges. Apparently, the quad loop was the last straw for the old pair – the leather is ripped clear at the seam, pulling away from the soles and bending uselessly, offering no support to the foot within. It’s a shame – he loved these skates. They were the first pair he bought with his own money.

Victor sighs, but doesn’t scold him further. He kneels down to unlace the skates, somewhat pointlessly given the way they’re practically falling apart in his hands. The left skate comes off without much issue, but when Victor pulls off the right one, Yuuri can’t keep in the hiss of pain. Turquoise eyes flash upwards to meet his, their owner’s mouth twisting downwards in sympathy.

“That hurt?” Victor asks, unnecessarily, since the answer is already obvious to the both of them. Yuuri gives him a nod anyway, staying still as the Russian man tries to carefully tug down the sock without causing any further pain. As soon as the footwear is off, they both hold their breaths while Victor brings his fingers to the flushed skin of Yuuri’s ankle.

The touch aches, but it’s not the overwhelming ache of a break. Yuuri feels relieved, despite his earlier conviction that it couldn’t be anything serious.

“It’s somewhat warm and swollen,” Victor mutters, carefully feeling around his ankle, fingers twitching at every little pained sound that Yuuri can’t stop from escaping.

“I think it’s a sprain, probably a mild one,” his coach finally declares, and they exchange a look of relief. A mild sprain isn’t too bad – it means no practice for a few days and Yuuri will have to be careful and make sure to stretch the ankle after the swelling goes down, but it could have been much worse. A break could have put him out of commission long enough to risk the whole season. This is a small thing, in comparison.

Victor turns to regard the useless pair of skates near them with an odd look. If Yuuri didn’t know any better, he would think it almost resentful, which… well, yes. Resenting a pair of inanimate skates sounds somewhat dubious, even inside his own head, so he quickly lets that thought go.

“You,” Victor declares, turning to meet Yuuri’s stare head-on, “need new skates.”

There’s not much he can say to that, except for a meek “yes.”

 

After they get back to the inn, with Yuuri’s ankle wrapped in a brace snatched from a storeroom at the Ice Castle, Victor makes Yuuri write ‘I will keep better track of my skates’ fifty times on a piece of paper which he claims he’ll have framed and placed on the Japanese skater’s desk. Yuuri agrees to a trip to Tokyo for a new pair of skates as soon as he can put pressure on his ankle again.

Yuuri feels somewhat guilty for being excited at the chance to spend time doing normal things like sight-seeing and shopping with Victor, rather than the practice he should be doing. He didn’t set out to sprain his ankle and the circumstances are far from fortunate, but. Well.

It feels like an opportunity. He’d be a fool not to grasp it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another (bloody long) chapter done. Apologies for the delay - reading it over took some time as well, because these are getting quite long. A friend helped out with that, thankfully!
> 
> Some more explanations about concepts, etc:
> 
> Toutetsu: Shape-shifter demons. As noted before, Taiki was known for having one as a shirei, something that hadn't been thought possible before then. They can take on most any shape and are nigh impossible to defeat. If you meet one, your best hope is that it's feeling lazy and you're unusually fast on your feet. Ginsaku, Yuuri's shirei, is a shape-shifter as well, though we haven't yet seen how he got him.
> 
> Demon-beasts: Also known as youma, these beasts exist outside the mandate of Heaven. Most of the creatures of Twelve Kingdoms follow the ropes (something like morals and laws) of the Emperor of Heaven, to varying degrees. Demon-beasts do not - they kill for the sake of killing and spread most when there's a kingdom without an emperor. The Yellow Sea is filled with them, though no one knows where youma come from and how they spread out from behind the gates without passing through them on the Day of Safe Passage. Youma can only be tamed by kirin through pacification. In captivity, they will either perish or break free.
> 
> Koukai: The Yellow Sea, a cruel and hazardous area surrounding the five mountains in the centre of Twelve Kingdoms. There are swamps, deserts and all kinds of danger here - most people will only risk the area for the pilgrimage to Mount Hou, though some people make their living by being hired as bodyguards or hunting down and taming youjuu (mount-beasts) in Koukai. There are a lot of mysteries left unknown about the place, something that might be touched on more as Yuuri grows up.
> 
> The Four Gates of Order: There are four gates to the Yellow Sea, each of them facing a different direction. They are known as the Reikon Gate, which is also called Gate of Virtues and faces southwest, at the very edge of Sai; the Reiken Gate, also known as Gate of Strength, facing northwest and located on the edge of the Yellow Sea that borders Kyou; the Reigon Gate, also known as Gate of Stillness, the northeastern gate in the kingdom of En; and the Reison Gate, known as Gate of Winds, which faces towards southeast and is located in Kou, Yuuri's kingdom. In order of appearance, these gates open at the summer solstice, the spring equinox, the winter solstice and the autumn equinox. It can be assumed they all have a sacred beast guarding them - none of them can be opened by hand, not even with the strength of a hundred men. On the Day of Safe Passage, the sacred beast descends from above to open and close the gate at the beginning and the end of the same day.
> 
> Dowager of the West: Also known as the Queen Mother of the West, she is a legendary divine being, seen as a god by most. In the Mandate of Heaven, it is said that she was placed to guard the Five Mountains at the center of Koukai as sacred grounds by the Emperor of Heaven, himself. She lives on Mt. Ka, and sends out her oracles to gather the women who have earned the right to work on the Five Mountains when it's time for them to be called to service. She oversees the mountains and Koukai, and people pray to her for compassion and wisdom.
> 
> The chant: The romaji-chant that Yuuri uses is - 神勅明勅、天清地清。神君清君、不汚不濁。鬼魅降伏、陰陽和合。急急如律令。I hesitated over whether to use westernized reading, the kanji, or the kana - しんちょくめいちょくてんせいちせい じんくんせいくんふおふだく きみこうぶくおんみょうわごう きゅうきゅうにょりつれい. In the end I went with ease of reading.
> 
> The kanji I chose for Shourai's name are 湯雷, aka "hot water" (or hot springs / molten iron - onsen sure fits here) and "thunder" (or lightning). Shourai is a kyuuki, a grey-black tiger demon with red eyes and wings. They're known for going on rampage when hungry, and won't stop until they've eaten their fill. Shourai is a particularly large on for his kind.
> 
> As usual, thank you for all the kudos and the comments! I'm sorry this chapter (and its notes) are so long, but hopefully the content was worth it. Can you guess what my favourite part to write was in this one? It's pretty obvious from the writing, I think.
> 
> I'm still hesitant about Victor's POV (3rd person, naturally) - so suggestions on how to achieve that are still welcome. As usual, you can find me on tumblr if you have questions, suggestions, etc. Hope I see you in next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet moments are often the sweetest ones.

They take a plane from Fukuoka to Tokyo, since going by the train would take close to seven hours, even if they swapped to the faster Shinkansen half-way. Yuuri is still wearing the brace on his ankle, mostly to placate Victor – he’s fairly sure the mild sprain is all but healed, only requiring some stretching and strengthening exercises to be back to top-notch, but his coach is proving to be something of a worrywart. It’d be sweet, if Yuuri wasn’t so exasperated with the absurd extents Victor can take his coddling to – for the past few days, Yuuri hasn’t been allowed to get his own glass of water, let alone practice or go to the studio. It took all of his efforts, _hours_ of silent treatment and pointing out the need for some actual practice for Victor to relent on them finally getting the shopping trip out of the way. Hence, the plane.

Despite his reluctance to allow Yuuri to take one step under his own power, Victor seems to be vibrating from a mix of excitement and anticipation on the plane to the metropolis, staring out the window and asking “Is that Tokyo?” every time they fly over something higher than a single-story house. Yuuri can barely hide his relief when he’s finally able to answer with a “Yes, that’s Tokyo.” Who knew flying with someone else could be so exhausting?

Victor insists on a cab instead of walking, so the trip to their hotel is quick and uneventful. Considering the size of Tokyo and Victor’s enthusiasm, they’ve booked a room for the whole weekend, allowing time for both sight-seeing and the original goal of skates shopping. To Yuuri’s slight shame, he’s never actually explored Tokyo himself despite his nationality, so taking in the sights will be just as new for him as it is for Victor.

“How’s your ankle?” Victor asks, as they’re setting down their luggage in the shared hotel room, complete with two beds and a small kitchenette. Victor had wanted something far more extravagant, but Yuuri had stayed firm after all the money wasted on the flights and the purchases he could already foresee his coach making on their little shopping excursion. Victor seemed to take a special kind of delight in throwing his money around, especially when it came to spending it on other people – like Yuuri – or unnecessary luxuries.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri sighs. He’s rapidly progressing past touched and well into the realm of annoyed, but he knows the older man means well, so he does his best to tamp it down. “You said yourself it was just a mild sprain. It was fine two days ago. It’s definitely fine by now.”

“Sorry,” Victor says, having the mind to appear contrite. “I can’t help but worry. It’s just that you’re so determined - sometimes I think you would have insisted on skating with a broken foot, if it had been that.”

“I do have some sense,” Yuuri notes drily. “Even I know better than to do something like that.”

“Sorry,” Victor repeats, smiling at Yuuri from under his lashes demurely, sitting on the bed closer to the door. Yuuri should know better than to give in to that look – he’s fairly sure the Russian man has practiced it to perfection in front of a mirror, or something equally silly. Sadly, he’s a weak person.

“It’s fine,” is all he says, smiling despite himself. “Are you ready to head out or do you want to stay in for today?”

“No, no, let’s get going!” Victor is all eagerness and heart-shaped smiles again, bouncing on the hotel bed like a child who’s been offered an all-you-can-eat buffet of nothing but ice cream.

“Don’t forget the actual reason we’re here,” Yuuri reminds him, all but resigned to being dragged around Tokyo by what is, for all purposes, a man-sized toddler.

“Of course not,” Victor assures him, convincing exactly 0% of the occupants of the room. Even the oddly shaped stain on the ceiling looks distinctly unimpressed.

“…you do remember why we are here, right?” Yuuri asks, staring at Victor suspiciously.

“Of course!” Victor exclaims again, looking insulted, then pauses in the middle of opening his mouth to continue. Yuuri expectantly raises an eyebrow.

“Well, for the most part,” Victor says unconvincingly, avoiding the Japanese skater’s eyes.

Yuuri answers with a sigh.

 

The internet turns out to have outdated information, and the store Yuuri had looked up in advance has long since moved and been replaced by a fast food restaurant. The kirin frowns at the brightly coloured front of the store, feeling betrayed, while Victor taps away at his own phone next to him.

“It’s okay, Yuuri!” the living legend consoles him, looking up from his phone to beam at Yuuri’s dejected visage. “One of my followers said there’s another shop two streets over.”

Of course they did. Victor has a follower count numbering in the millions and no reservations about using it to his advantage.

“Hopefully they’re more reliable than the internet, then,” is what Yuuri replies with, taking one last look at the cheerful exterior of the small fast food joint, scowling at both it and the screen of his phone.

“Technically,” Victor points out, “this is also from the internet. But I’m sure they wouldn’t lie to me!”

Victor turns out to be right and his fans a better source of information than the rest of the net. The store Yuuri had been looking for does have an outlet two streets over from the spot they were supposed to be in, much to the relief of both skaters.

“My fandom comes through again!” Victor cheers, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Yuuri shakes his head but doesn’t deny it, internally offering a word of thanks to the disturbingly invested, rabid social network that is Victor’s Instagram following.

“The sooner we get my skates sorted out, the sooner we can go explore,” Yuuri reminds Victor, who hurries to drag him inside the small store, eagerly babbling away about all the things he wants to see around Tokyo, some of them reasonable, some dubious – “We are _not_ going scuba-diving, Victor!” – and most of them the typical brand of ridiculous yet adorable that defines the Russian man Yuuri calls his coach.

The store does sell his typical brand of skates, which is another relief and something the internet didn’t get wrong, this time. Victor offers critique and opinions on all the skates Yuuri tries on, mostly getting in the way and annoying the steadily less and less helpful shop assistant. In the end, Yuuri suggests Victor go look for some new skate guards in an effort to both actually make some progress with their goal and to placate the poor store worker who’s starting to grind his teeth and develop a tick.

With Victor sufficiently distracted by his new task, Yuuri manages to find a pair of black boots that are close to his previous ones and fit his feet perfectly. The assistant is helpful, offering to have his choice of blades temporarily mounted so he can try out the skates at the attached rink.

Deeming the fit good, Yuuri heads off to pay for his new skates, but gets interrupted by the endless bundle of energy known as Victor, who drags him away to the skate guards to show off his finds.

“Look, Yuuri, they have mix and match section!” Victor exclaims, eagerly gesturing at a large bin full of all kinds of skate guards, showing signs of someone’s thorough digging. Yuuri glances between the bin and Victor and resigns himself to an unnecessary purchase. The sparkle in his coach’s eyes can only mean one thing.

“I found you the perfect pair of guards!” Sure enough, Victor is already at the bin, pushing aside guards as he digs around for whatever it is he’s looking for. “Aha!” his voice comes out muffled by the merchandise he’s bodily buried in, before he resurfaces, sending packages and boxes falling over the edges of the container, paying the mess no mind as usual.

“Here!” Victor says, thrusting two thin and long packages into Yuuri’s face.

“Thank you?” the Japanese skater offers hesitantly, backing up a step to get a better look at what he’s being presented with. He takes the two packages and observes their contents curiously. The skate guards are, indeed, of two different kinds. One of them is red and blue, a fairly simple but a pleasant enough design. The other is red and white, like his usual guards, but less worn than the old pair. Yuuri feels oddly touched that Victor had noticed and remembered such an inconsequential detail.

“See, the other’s like your old ones,” Victor points out needlessly, almost vibrating in place, “and the other is in the colours of Russia!”

“Oh,” Yuuri says quietly, suddenly understanding the significance. He glances at Victor’s expectant expression, noting both the hope and the hesitance there, and smiles.

“I like them,” he tells his coach, grabbing the packages tighter. “Let’s go pay for them. My skates should be ready by Sunday, as well.”

Victor sparkles happily all the way to the check-out, where he somehow wheedles his way into being the one to pay for both the skates _and_ the guards.

As soon as they step outside the store, it becomes obvious that Victor’s quest for a replacement shop hasn’t gone unnoticed. There’s a crowd of people loitering around, and they perk up noticeably the second they notice the Russian man, clustering around and requesting photographs, selfies, signatures, to have his babies – Yuuri can’t keep track of the requests, the sudden crowd leaving him disoriented and slightly claustrophobic.

There’s a flash of something in his peripheral vision, something strangely familiar and beyond the realm of actual sight – something spiritual rather than physical. Yuuri finds himself pushed around by the crowd, going along with it rather than even bother fighting against the shove of bodies, somehow managing to end up on the outside of the cluster of people without any injuries to his name.

Finally free of the bubble of claustrophobia, the Japanese skater pauses to catch a few breaths of fresh air, glancing at Victor who appears to be properly distracted by his adoring public, flashing smiles all around and posing for selfies. He’s not paying attention to anything outside of the immediate vicinity, and will obviously be busy for a while still.

Yuuri glances back towards the direction of the flash, a feeling almost like a pull within him. He knows this feeling, quite well. There’s a flicker of something high above, and he fixes his gaze on one of the rooftops, eyes narrowing.

“ _Taiho_ ,” Shinri’s voice echoes in his ears.

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, taking one more look at Victor, still chatting and laughing with the crowd, before sighing and turning away, feeling a little guilty but breaking into a quick jog towards the building in the distance anyway. He can always make up for it later, he silently promises himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps it was the confidence Yuuri gained from his encounter with Shourai, but he found that he had no difficulties pacifying demon-beasts after the summer solstice passed and the pilgrims departed on the long journey back to the next gate, the Gate of Winds, which would open on the autumn equinox. Since the Reison Gate was located within Kou, the fall equinox was expected to bring forth an even larger number of hopefuls from the kingdom without a king.

While none of the sages seemed disappointed and just carried on as normal, busying themselves with their chores and helping the weary travelers prepare for their departure from the hospitalities of Mount Hou, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel guilty over his perceived failure to locate the next king of Kou amongst the hopeful citizens. But there had been no revelation – no voice whispering in his ear, telling him who to pick.

Rather than see the people off while enduring their hopeful or resentful stares, Yuuri chose to hide from the knowing gazes of the oracles and instead sneaked out of Brush-Jar Palace in a rather uncharacteristic act of defiance. Shourai seemed inordinately pleased about the excursion, while Shinri was quietly disapproving, refusing to come out of hiding in order to help with the escape.

Either way, Yuuri was familiar enough with the oracles’ routines and the twisting paths of Hohzan to be able to easily avoid any sharp eyes on the look for a displaced kirin. Even if he hadn’t been, Mount Hou was a literal maze, with plenty of cover for hiding and countless little nooks that no-one had stepped in for the past few decades. Yuuri could probably have just as easily walked as sneaked out, but slinking around made him feel slightly better about the whole thing for some reason. As if by being shifty he was agreeing to his own dishonesty and somehow making it more honest, as silly as that sounded.

As soon as they were far enough away that Yuuri felt safe calling for Shourai without risking the large youma being sighted by anyone, Yuuri was astride the tiger-like demon, headed for the Yellow Sea. Enki had left before the pilgrims had arrived, so the young kirin was virtually on his own – but with both Shourai and Shinri, he felt secure enough to brave the somewhat frightening wasteland that was supposedly his birthplace. For all that Mount Hou was like a different realm, all five of the central mountains were considered a part of Koukai and under the protection of the Dowager of the West.

Unlike with Enki, Yuuri had no particular destination in mind. He wasn’t familiar enough with the Yellow Sea to pick a direction, so he allowed Shourai’s long stride to take them where the demon wished, simply enjoying the feel of the wind on his skin, observing the barren landscape flashing by. Despite their speed, he could glimpse the occasional demon, but none of them approached or attacked, sufficiently cowed by the sight of Yuuri’s new shirei. There was always easier prey to be found – especially with the pilgrimages that would now be frequent until the next king of Kou was chosen.

“What’s that?” Yuuri asked, catching sight of what looked like a dog winging its way through the sky, surprisingly close.

“ _That is a tenba_ ,” Shinri’s voice replied, the lamia finally deigning to address the kirin. Her earlier displeasure was still evident in her voice, but Yuuri was relieved that she was at least answering his questions again. She was, without a doubt, the one he was closest to out of all of his new friends. Having her mad at him was not fun in the least.

“A demon?” Yuuri asked uneasily, but Shourai let out a snort under him and shook briefly, his fur puffing out in disagreement.

“ _Don’t mix up those man-lovers with us_ ,” the shirei told him, sounding disgruntled. “ _That thing is not a youma – it’s a youjuu._ ”

Yuuri blinked, surprised. The winged dog looked like a demon-beast from what he could make of it, but if Shourai said it was not, then it probably wasn’t.

“What’s a youjuu?” he asked his shirei, patting the ruffled fur in an apology.

“ _Where have you been living, in a cave?_ ” Shourai grumbled, sounding genuinely curious. “ _Aren’t you supposed to know these things?_ ”

“Sorry.” Yuuri blushed, feeling chastised. “I only arrived here a bit back. I grew up Over There.”

“ _That is why you ask questions and learn_ ,” Shinri replied, her tone filled with displeasure directed at the newly-minted shirei. Shourai huffed, but didn’t refute her words.

“ _A youjuu is a beast that humans tame and use as mounts_ ,” Shourai explained gruffly, ignoring the earlier discussion. “ _They can’t be pacified by a kirin, the same way a youma can’t be tamed by humans._ ”

“Huh,” Yuuri said, looking at the winged form sharing the sky with them curiously.

“Would you like to take a closer look?” Shinri’s asked, appearing suddenly as if melting into existence, seated behind Yuuri on the kyuuki who let out a surprised little growl at the sudden increase in weight.

“Is that okay?” Yuuri enquired, turning eager eyes towards his lamia, who smiled at him in return.

“Of course,” she told the kirin, “while youjuu are not to be trifled with and will attack if provoked, there is a reason people chose to tame them. Tenba, like the one over there, are especially gentle among their kind.”

“ _They eat demons, you know_ ,” Shourai growled, but changed his direction without having to be prompted, drifting closer to the winged youjuu who had yet to notice their approach.

“They eat you?” Yuuri gasped, horrified, reaching out to pet his shirei’s neck in comfort.

“ _They_ are _still beasts_ ,” the kyuuki pointed out, “ _and they do need to eat. There’s not much to eat around here, so we all make do with what we have._ ”

The tenba was surprisingly beautiful, an elegant-looking creature with slender features and a dog-like form. Its body was a pretty shade of white, while its head was a deep black, the wings on its back much smaller than those Shourai sported on his.

“It’s pretty,” Yuuri said quietly. The tenba was much closer now, though, and it startled at the sound of his voice, twisting its neck to glance behind and spotting them. It let out a strange snort-like cry, eyeing them in distrust but not fleeing like Yuuri had expected it to.

“Do you think it’s tame?” the kirin asked in surprise.

“ _It has no reins, so I’d say not_ ,” Shourai opined, sounding dismissive. It was obvious the demon-beast didn’t think much of youjuu in general.

“It’s unlikely,” Shinri agreed. “If it was tame, it would have a rider. Those who tame youjuu for living often sell them once they leave Koukai, and the ones they don’t, they keep a close eye on.”

The tenba was slowing down, careful to keep the three in its field of vision while lowering its altitude, Shourai following close behind. Soon, they were both touching down on the ground, coming to a gentle stop on the slopes of a small hill sprouting yellowing grass and twisted branches, not a single drop of water anywhere in sight.

“Hello,” Yuuri cooed at the youjuu, carefully dismounting his shirei and approaching the dog-beast.

“Be careful, Kouki,” Shinri warned him, sliding down from the back of the kyuuki, poised to interfere at the first sign of trouble. “While they are known to be gentle, that doesn’t mean they are without defenses.”

“ _That man-lover wouldn’t dare do anything within my sight_ ,” Shourai claimed, sitting down on his haunches but not moving his eyes from the kirin or the winged dog despite his self-assured words.

The tenba snorted, but didn’t back up or attack, observing the approaching kirin with wary eyes. Despite being clearly ready to flee at any sign of aggression, it held tranquil and strong in the face of the threat. Yuuri found he quite liked this creature, even if it couldn’t be made into a shirei.

Finally within an arm’s reach of the youjuu, Yuuri slowly extended a hand but didn’t touch the beast. He left his palm facing upwards, near the head of the creature and in full sight, not moving an inch. The tenba huffed and hesitated, but eventually shifted forward to take a whiff of the extended hand, nosing at it and breathing in and out heavily, the warm air puffing around his fingers making the young kirin giggle in surprise.

Oddly, rather than startling at the sound, the youjuu seemed to relax further, finally easing its posture and stepping closer, nosing curiously at Yuuri’s hair and pushing against him with its forehead, all wariness completely forgotten.

“It must have met humans before,” Shinri mused out loud, relaxing herself, now that the beast appeared to have calmed and the danger was past.

“Do you have a name?” Yuuri asked the youjuu, reaching up to scratch behind its ear. The dog-like beast was much smaller than Shourai, so he didn’t have to reach very far in order to do so. If he had tried the same with his tiger-like shirei, he would have needed a ladder. Possibly a crane.

“Youjuu do not speak,” Shinri told Yuuri, approaching slowly so as not to startle the creature. “I believe that humans give them names of their choosing, when they tame them.”

“Can I give you a name?” Yuuri asked the tenba, scratching under its jaw and earning a pleased chirp for his efforts. He decided to take that as a yes.

“Are you a she or a he, though,” Yuuri wondered, frowning slightly.

“ _That man-lover’s a she, not that I see why you’d want to give it a name_ ,” Shourai voiced from behind them, his tone disinterested.

“Thanks,” Yuuri told his shirei, glancing back, before turning to consider the tenba once more.

“You somehow remind me of my mother, from Over There,” Yuuri informed the creature, who ignored his words and nudged his hand to get him to resume his scratching. He smiled and scraped his fingers through the stiff, short fur under her jaw, thinking of his mother and wondering what she was doing right now. “How about I call you Kanshi?”

The tenba, now christened as Kanshi, pushed at him with her head, huffing warm air through his hair with enough force to send it fluttering, probably creating tangles that Youka would despair at when they returned to Mount Hou. Yuuri laughed, bright and loud, the youjuu joining in with chirps and huffs. Shinri remained quiet but smiled along with them – Shourai simply huffed and turned his back, deeming the whole thing below him.

When they returned to Mount Hou that evening to many a disapproving look and long scolding from the oracles, Yuuri brought with him several new – albeit veiled – shirei, and a story of a sweet, young youjuu that they had encountered in the wilds, which had followed them up to the very foot of the mountain, before reluctantly parting ways and heading back to wherever it was the youjuu came from. The sages listened to Yuuri’s rambling tales with a patience born from decades of looking after young kirin, Youka paying especially close attention and laughing at all the right parts.

“Do you think she’ll be alright, out there?” Yuuri asked the young oracle later that night, his worry for their new friend obvious in his voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, and you’ll see her again,” Youka assured the kirin, a smile in her voice as she worked on untangling the bird’s nest that was his hair. “The youjuu are resilient creatures – if she has survived the Yellow Sea so long, she must be quite strong. She sounds quite lovely. Maybe you can introduce her to me, sometime?”

“Yeah!” Yuuri happily agreed, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “I’m sure you’d love her! And she’d love you, too!”

“I’m sure we both would,” Youka laughed at him.

Shinri settled down in her customary spot behind them, content with the knowledge that everything was exactly as it should be, her kirin happy and _there_ , her small family safe and complete.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Yuuri reaches the general area, the source of the persistent feeling and sight-beyond-sight has moved to somewhere higher – it only takes him a few seconds to realize that the feeling is directing him towards Tokyo Tower. The cliché makes him snort softly, but he smiles as he approaches the large structure, observing its lit-up profile with slight curiosity.

The tower isn’t quite as popular a tourist target anymore, ever since they finished building Tokyo Skytree, which easily dwarves the smaller landmark. Yuuri has never visited either of the tall buildings, something he’ll likely fix soon enough if Victor has anything to say about it. Hopefully, they’ll visit the Skytree rather than Tokyo Tower, though, since Yuuri is about to get a good look at the view from on top of it.

Luckily, the hour is late and there’s a sign outside the tower proclaiming the higher deck closed for maintenance, so Yuuri locates a small, seedy looking alleyway and quietly calls for one of his smaller, flight-capable shirei, a tenken called Kaishin. He ignores Ginsaku’s grumbling reminder that the shape-shifter can be small when required, as well.

He gives the red fur of the demon-beast a fond pat, climbing on top of the shirei with the ease of muscle-memory that has yet to fade, despite the several years it took him to regain his memories and reclaim his shirei. Kaishin is unusually small for his kind, a red-furred demon akin to a dog with wings and a black, sharp beak filled with even sharper fangs. She reminds him of the tenba he befriended in the Yellow Sea, who used to follow him around on his exploration of the harsh domain.

“Let’s go,” Yuuri says after he’s comfortably settled on Kaishin’s back, gripping the sides of the demon with his legs tightly to stay on through the initial take-off. The red fur of the demon-dog blends in well with the colours of Tokyo Tower, and they flit easily through the crisscrossing metal work, winging their way up past the lower observation deck, heading directly for the closed Special Observatory.

As he expected, there’s a small figure sitting on top of the disc-like protrusion above the higher observatory, waiting for them. Kaishin flies closer to the tower, hovering in place to allow Yuuri to dismount, before disappearing into the shadows, knowing she’s no longer needed. She never was one to talk much.

“Rokuta,” Yuuri greets the boy, who stands up at his approach.

“Yo,” the other kirin greets him easily, lifting one hand in a lazy hello. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

“I didn’t really expect to see you here, either,” Yuuri agrees, observing the other curiously. It’s strange being taller than the older kirin, not having seen him in person since he was fifteen or so. “You look different.”

“You look different, too,” Enki points out. “It’s the shell.”

The Rokuta of this side has dark hair, which is a jarring change from the golden locks typical to a kirin. His face is shaped differently, his eyes larger and his nose more upturned, but his mannerisms and voice are still the same as ever, provoking a feeling of familiarity that’s almost painful in its intensity. Despite the differences and even without the mannerisms, Yuuri would recognize him without difficulty – the aura of a kirin is unmistakable, and the only kirin of a similar stature that he knows is Enki.

“Did you have to go and grow up and become all big?” Rokuta complains, eyeing Yuuri with something close to a pout. “You used to be so cute and small. Now you’re taller than me. Life just isn’t fair.”

“I’m not all that tall for my age,” Yuuri reminds him. “You’re just especially short.”

“Harsh,” Enki tsks, shaking his head good-naturedly. “But not really what I wanted to talk about.”

“Why _are_ you here, actually?” Yuuri asks, curious.

“I still like to visit,” Enki says meaningfully. “Though I’ve been by more often of late, looking for you in fact. Well, both you and the kirin of Hou, but that’s another matter entirely.”

Yuuri wants to ask, then thinks better of it. He probably doesn’t have the right to enquire about the goings-on of the other side, not after abandoning them for so long and actually, actively, choosing not to return. He considers asking about Kou, regardless, but the spark of resentment is still there, buried deep within.

“I’m not coming back,” he says, instead.

Enki remains quiet for a while, considering the younger kirin with careful eyes, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“It’s your choice,” he eventually shrugs. “Though I kind of want to ask why.”

Yuuri fidgets uncomfortably, but takes a seat on the edge of the round metal structure, looking away at the tall buildings stretching into the distance around them. Enki follows his example, sitting down close to him, waiting for his reply. Just as Yuuri gathers his thoughts and opens his mouth, a jarring ringing cuts through the air, startling Yuuri enough that he almost falls right off the building. If not for Enki’s quick, steadying arm, he probably would have.

“That’s yours,” Enki voices unnecessarily. Yuuri wonders if he even knows what smartphones are, then dismisses the thought as irrelevant. He pats around his pockets and locates the device, pulling it out to see the flashing sign for an incoming call on the screen. It’s Victor. Yuuri stares at the screen for a few, long seconds, then presses on the power button for a long while, forcibly turning off the phone.

“You sure you don’t need to answer it?” Enki asks, raising his eyebrows. Yuuri coughs slightly, then shrugs in lieu of answering, a non-reply at best. Enki eyes him from the corner of his eyes, then shrugs as well, returning the gesture right back at him.

“I don’t want to choose another king,” Yuuri blurts out, abrupt, then pauses in surprise at his own words. It’s true, but he wasn’t expecting to be able to say it quite so easily. Rokuta always did have a way of making him talk, he supposes.

“I ran away from Mount Hou once,” Enki says in an apparent non-sequitur. “There was a lot of pressure on me to choose the next king. I didn’t want to do it, though. A king would only bring more war and ruin to the land – that’s what I thought.”

Yuuri regards the other kirin, already knowing where the story is going, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I wanted to get away, to not have to choose,” Rokuta says, eyes staring into the distance sightlessly, paying no mind to the metropolis sprawling around them. Yuuri wonders what he’s seeing, in place of the tall buildings and bustling traffic.

“If I chose a king,” he continues, “I’d only be spreading the flames, dooming the kingdom to certain destruction. All kings do is destroy. So I refused to choose. I fled.”

“What happened?” Yuuri asks quietly.

“Everything we have belongs to the king, did you know that?” Enki smiles without a trace of humour. “The kirin owns nothing – our belongings, our title, even our lives are there for the sake of the king. We exist to choose the king and then serve him. Everything we do is for them.”

Yuuri nods. He’s aware of all of that. He knows it very intimately, has accepted it as an inescapable fact.

“I used to wonder why I was even born,” Enki sighs. “I thought I was running away, but I ran straight into Shoryu.”

And there comes the point. Is Enki telling him that it’s useless trying to avoid their fate? That no matter what Yuuri does, he’ll be forced to choose a king, to return?

“You know what the worst part was?” Enki asks, laughing mirthlessly. It’s not really a question, so Yuuri doesn’t answer. “I was so happy when I first saw him. I thought ‘this is the king that will destroy En,’ and I was _happy_.”

“We love our kings,” Yuuri says quietly. “But I think it’s a choice, either way.”

Enki doesn’t reply for a long moment, staring up at the sky, lit by the lights of a city that never sleeps, clouded by pollution and humanity.

“Yes,” he agrees at long last. “I suppose it is.”

 

They spend a long while in silence, just watching the world sparkle and blur, before Enki stands up to leave. The older kirin doesn’t try to convince Yuuri to return, just smiles at him and wishes him good luck before heading off to who knows where. Maybe back to the other side, back to his king. Perhaps to search for the kirin of Hou that he had mentioned. Yuuri thinks it doesn’t really matter, in the end, not to Enki nor him. The kirin exist simply for the sake of a king, a gesture of good will from the Heavens, like a gift basket left at a neighbour’s doorstep. The only choice they have is in what they do beyond their heaven-mandated duty.

Yuuri sighs, standing up and stretching. It’s pointless to sit around and think of things he can’t do anything about. If he only has so much time left, it’s best not to waste them on grievances and regrets.

“Ginsaku,” the kirin calls, and the shirei is there, stretching his back, a small housecat with silvery, short fur, purring with the pleasure of the pulling muscles.

“Ginsaku,” Yuuri sighs, shaking his head.

“ _You could’ve called me earlier_ ,” the demon points out, undaunted, but shifts into something slightly larger, something that Yuuri can actually sit on.

The trip down from the tower is over quickly, mostly because they’re going downwards, which allows them to simply jump, unworried about the impact. True to form, despite their velocity, the landing is feather-light, the magic of the demon holding strong against the simple task presented to it.

“Thank you, Ginsaku,” Yuuri tells the shape-shifter with a last pat, earning a growl in reply, before the beast is gone.  He wonders where Victor is and considers turning on his phone. He doesn’t feel quite ready to face the world, though, so he re-orients himself and starts walking towards where he thinks their hotel is, enjoying the cool air of the late evening.

Maybe he’ll buy something to bring back as an apology, on the way.

 

* * *

 

 

The oracles hurrying around was a familiar sight to Yuuri from the spring solstice, so the rise in activity on Mount Hou didn’t take him by surprise when the autumn equinox arrived. It would take the pilgrims close to a month to reach the bottom of the mountain, so there was still plenty of time; but with the opening gate being in Kou, even if at the very edge of it, the sages were expecting a much larger group than usual to grace the slopes of their home. Reison Gate, also known as the Gate of Winds, was on the southeast border of the Yellow Sea, from where those aspiring to become the next king would make their way across the wilderness, either by foot or kijuu – a tamed youjuu, a mount-beast – to reach Hohzan.

For the oracles, having a kirin to take care of was a break from the monotonous life on Mount Hou, a change in their chores and daily routines. Likewise, the festivities that came with the opening gates and raising the flags signaling a kirin ready to choose a king brought a different kind of festive atmosphere to the mountain. The oracles rarely got to interact with the outside world – the chance to talk with people from the outside was welcomed, and many of the sages would wear their best outfits and adornments, taking special care in their appearance for the guests. Sometimes, an oracle might even descend with one of the visitors, leaving her post and sagehood to embrace a life by the side of someone special.

“Lady Seika descended the mountain with a man from Tai, some years back,” Youka told Yuuri as she helped him dress for the ceremonies of the day, which would begin with the offering of incense at the Meadow-Path Villa. “It was quite the surprise – she’d been an oracle for over six hundred years, but I guess love can strike whenever, regardless of who you are.”

“You can just leave?” Yuuri asked, holding out his arms for the sages to adjust his sleeves.

“Well, it’s not quite as simple as all that,” one of the other oracles told him from where she was gathering his hair near the ends into a clasp. “You have to be prepared to be stricken from the divine registry, for one. We receive our status in return for our service, so to abandon our duty is to depart from divinity.”

“Did she not like being an oracle?”

“Oh, she adored her work,” Youka was quick to reassure him. “She loved every kirin she looked after like a mother loves their child – I’ve heard some of the older kirin mention her, once or twice. It’s not that she didn’t like it here, but that she found something even more important to her.”

“You mean love?” Yuuri wrinkled his nose with both confusion and mild distaste.

“Yes, Kouki,” Youka said, amused. “Love.”

The other oracles tittered and covered their mouths with their long, colourful sleeves to hide their smiles. Yuuri considered them all again, more carefully this time, and could see what they meant when they talked about dressing up for the event. All of them had their hair up with many more pins and decorations than usual, and the typical outfits designed for ease of movement and hard work had been replaced by patterned, trailing gowns of all colours. While the style was closer to traditional Japanese clothes than the western style that was more popular Over There these days – from what Yuuri could remember of it – there was something quite different about it, something that was almost Chinese but still not quite the same.

When Yuuri pointed this out, one of the sages smiled at him. “When a shoku brings people from Over There, they come either from beyond the sea, as kaikyaku – sea guests – or from the mountains, as sankyaku – mountain guests. They say there is a land beyond known as Kan, or China, where the mountain guests come from – if you say our clothing resembles theirs, it is possible their culture has influenced the style. After all, there have been several sankyaku over the centuries, and many of them bring with them new knowledge and skills.”

“New knowledge and skills?” Yuuri asked, helped down the rocky path to the gate by Shinri, who was holding his hand to prevent him from falling.

“Yes,” Youka agreed, “I have heard that paper was originally a concept introduced by a kaikyaku.”

“So if sankyaku are from China, are kaikyaku from Japan?”

“That is so,” one of the sages nodded. “There is a distant land beyond the Void Sea, which cannot be reached by sailing or normal means – that is Hourai, or Wa, the place you call Japan. When a shoku brings people here from over the sea, from Japan, they are sea guests, see?”

Yuuri bobbed his head to show he understood as they stopped at the gate that marked the divide between Brush-Jar Palace and the outer limits of Mount Hou. Two of the sages quickly moved to lift the bar, waiting until Shinri was fully gone from sight to open the gate and follow the kirin through.

“You remember what to do still, Kouki?” Youka asked from Yuuri’s left, speaking quietly. Yuuri nodded, looking curiously around at the people who kneeled and bowed low at them, the same as they had done on the previous solstice.

“There’s so many!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Yes, there are quite a few more than on the spring solstice,” an oracle agreed. “I’m not surprised, considering that it’s the Gate in Kou they came through.”

“How am I ever going to talk to them all?” Yuuri asked, dismayed.

“You don’t have to greet all of them,” Youka soothed him. “You can talk to the ones that approach you – or look for the kingly aura and follow that.”

“Kingly aura?”

“I’ve heard kirin say that the king possesses ouki, the aura of a king. You’ll understand when the revelation comes, I’m sure.”

They had reached the Meadow-Path Villa as they spoke. After entering the building and offering incense at the altar, Yuuri and the oracles moved to the partitioned area from where he could observe the visitors freely; it was a relief to not feel the weight of the many expectant eyes on them any longer.

Over the next few hours, several hopeful pilgrims would enter the villa to offer their respects and incense and talk with the oracles at the screen. There was plenty of gossip to be exchanged, something the sages listened to with great care in order to later relay it to the others, word by word. While minstrels were known to gather news from all over the world into small pamphlets for people to read, it was rare for the pilgrims to bring these booklets with them – thus the sages relied on word of mouth when it came to news of the outside world.

As some oracles swapped places, one of them came to join the others behind the screen with a frown on her face. “There is talk that this pilgrimage was riding the wings of the phoenix,” she said, explaining her disquieted countenance. “The travelers are saying that the next king must be among them.”

When the next king was among the people making the journey to Mount Hou, there would often be less trouble than usual to plague the travelers. This was called ‘riding on the wings of the phoenix.’ There would be fewer deaths along the journey, the youma would attack less often and nature itself would be more amenable, with less hazards along the route. It was seen as the Emperor of Heaven watching over the pilgrims, to protect the future king so that they would live to see their ascension.

“Superstition,” one of the sages dismissed.

“Did they say who?” another questioned.

“They’re saying it has to be Lord Eiryou, the choushi of the previous King of Kou. Apparently, he’s brought quite a haul with him to present to the kirin.”

“Choushi?” Yuuri asked, not following their conversation at all.

“The choushi is one of the positions of the Ministry of Fall, also known as Ministry of Justice. They are responsible for maintaining the law and keeping documents and providing the proof of authenticity. The Ministry of Fall is one of the Six Ministries.”

Yuuri glanced at Youka for clarification.

“The choushi, in particular, is responsible for keeping an eye on the other officials and reporting on them to the King. They also take care of the security of the palace,” Youka explained further.

“It says something of the previous king’s rule that his _choushi_ would bring bribes with him,” one of the oracles muttered. The others exchanged looks, a few of them quickly shushing the one to speak up, but none contradicted her words.

“Well,” Youka said diplomatically, “nothing will happen without a revelation. The choushi will be judged the same as everyone else, gifts or not.”

Yuuri still didn’t know what a revelation was, or how he would know the future king from all the other people. There was no one with a similar glowy aura as the Taiho of Ren and Rokuta had had, either, though he didn’t know what a kingly aura would look like when compared to that of a kirin.

Disheartened, Yuuri tugged at the sleeve of one of the oracles, indicating that he wished to go outside. The sages were quick and eager to comply, likely as tired of watching the endless stream of prospective rulers offer their greetings to the screen between them as their kirin.

No sooner had they stepped outside the Meadow-Path Villa that a portly, sweating man was hurrying towards them, a hush falling over the crowd, everyone quieting to observe.

“It’s Lord Eiryou,” someone close-by muttered.

A few of the watchers snorted quietly, turning back to whatever they had been doing, obviously dismissing the man as unworthy of the attention.

The huffing man stopped in front of the kirin’s entourage, quickly prostrating himself on the ground. Two men, obviously servants, followed behind him, struggling to carry a heavy-looking chest.

“My lord,” said the presumed Lord Eiryou, “it pleases me tremendously to be able to lay my eyes upon your glorious visage on this evening.”

Yuuri blinked and glanced towards Youka for some guidance, but she merely raised an inquiring eyebrow while covering her mouth with her sleeve to hide her doubtlessly mirthful expression. While they were thus distracted, the choushi kept on talking in an endless stream of words without once looking up.

“…the honour of having breathed the same air as the Lord of Hohzan, and to deliver my most sincere wishes for his continued health-“

“Um,” Yuuri said quietly, flinching a little when the man stopped talking at his interruption.

“Yes, my lord?” the choushi breathed, finally looking up, his sweaty face both eager and hopeful. Yuuri stared at the man a while longer, but there was no shining aura, no voice whispering in his ear, nothing but a man, perspiring and expectant, half lying on the ground in front of him as his two servants panted for breath, dragging a heavy coffer to the fore.

“I wish you well until the next solstice,” Yuuri told him the ritual answer that the oracles had taught him to say if there was no revelation.

Lord Eiryou’s face fell visibly, his countenance darkening and his eyes turning cold, all eagerness and hope gone to be replaced with anger and embarrassment. Some of the crowd laughed quietly as they turned back to their own business, their interest waning now that it was confirmed that this man would not become the next king of Kou. The choushi flushed at the sound of merriment, huffing as he hurriedly clambered up, brushing past his servants, knocking one of them over in his hurry to get away.

“How rude,” an oracle huffed. “Not a single word of acknowledgement.”

“I’m glad there was no revelation for him,” another agreed, looking distinctly relieved.

“Me too,” one of the man’s attendants muttered under his breath, bowing to the oracles and the kirin. “Please, take the chest and its contents. I doubt the master will even notice them missing, and they were intended for the Lord of Brush-Jar Palace. We are glad to have you returned.”

With another low bow, the two servants hurried after their absent lord, leaving the heavy coffer behind, doubtlessly happy not having to drag it around any longer.

“Well,” an oracle said while eyeing the gift.

“Hmm,” said another.

“How do we get it up to the palace?” one of them despaired.

It was at times like this that the sages bemoaned the lack of some stronger arms to lift heavy burdens. While the oracles were strong by necessity, to be seen struggling with a heavy burden in their pretty, flowing garments was not an image any of them wanted to bestow upon their guests.

“Shall we draw straws?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuuri!”

The sound of his name catches Yuuri’s attention as he’s handing over some money for the freshly baked, golden brown taiyaki he bought as a peace-offering for Victor. He turns his head just in time to get a proper look at the person who tackles him with a move worthy of a professional wrestler before he hits the ground. He takes a moment to be thankful that the bag of taiyaki is still in the hands of the stall owner, rather than his own. He’s fairly sure the pastries would have fared badly in the tumble.

“Victor?” Yuuri squeaks out with what little air is left in his lungs, absently noting the shivering of the body on top of him and the arm curled protectively under his head. The heavy body above him just hugs him tighter, not saying a word, so the Japanese skater sighs and hugs it back, content to wait until Victor is ready to speak or move again, whichever comes first.

He catches sight of the confused taiyaki vendor leaning over the stall’s front to take a look at them both. Yuuri shakes his head when the merchant lifts his eyebrow in a question and pantomimes calling on the phone - probably trying to ascertain that his paying customer isn’t in the process of being murdered right in front of his eyes. Customers dying is probably bad for business.

“I was so worried,” Victor says after a while, finally loosening his hold a little, shifting to pull back just enough to be able to face him properly.

“I know,” Yuuri tells him, guilt welling up like a waterfall in reverse. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you’d been kidnapped or something”, Victor continues, his face darkening. “I looked away for a minute and you were just _gone_. I had no idea what to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri repeats, at a loss. He knew it was a bad idea when he left, but obviously he hadn’t really thought it through beyond that. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Instagram,” Victor sniffs. His eyes are bright and Yuuri feels something within himself curl up in horror. While his coach isn’t crying right now, the puffy red eyes, disheveled hair and overall appearance lend credence to the idea that Victor had been very, very worried indeed, enough that tears were involved at some point of the process.

“Heavens, Victor,” Yuuri breathes out, feeling his own eyes glaze over with a wetness he refuses to let spill over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you would be so worried.”

“Where did you go?” Victor asks, leaning backwards and settling on his knees, but not moving off Yuuri so as to let him stand up.

“I thought I saw someone I knew from when I was a child,” Yuuri chooses his words carefully. “I ran after them.”

It’s not a complete lie, though it is stretching the truth to the very limits of it.

“When your phone went out of reception,” Victor says quietly, trailing off without continuing. Yuuri can hear the rest of the sentence within his mind as if it had been spoken aloud. There are no words to express the guilt he feels, so he gives up on trying to use them, and just sits up himself to pull Victor into another hug, trying to convey his remorse through the tight grip of his arms.

It takes the taiyaki vendor clearing his throat for Victor to finally relent and stand up again, offering his hand to the younger skater to help him up as well. Yuuri knows he’s blushing as he finally accepts the bag of taiyaki and the change from the thoroughly entertained merchant, hurriedly bowing and apologizing before tugging Victor towards their hotel, realizing their hands are still clasped as he does so. At least the whole thing makes his coach smile again, the dark clouds on his face chased away by his obvious amusement at the situation.

Victor doesn’t let go of his hand until they’re back in their shared hotel room, finally relinquishing his hold when Yuuri threatens to shut the bathroom door on his fingers in order to be allowed to take a shower by himself. He latches on again as soon as Yuuri is out of the toilet, clinging to his hand as if expecting the other to vanish right in front of his eyes.

Victor settles on the other side of Yuuri’s bed that night, his face set as if daring the other skater to protest; as if he could, from under the weight of his guilt. He isn’t really sure _why_ he wants to protest in the first place – all of his old reasons seem small and illogical in the light of their shared memories. It’s not like anything happens, anyway, and he has slept in the same bed as Phichit and his sister on occasion, either because he passed out drunk or out of necessity.

The other bed remains untouched, and the cleaning staff will probably note it and draw conclusions, but Yuuri finds it hard to care when he gets to watch Victor sleep, the slow rise of his chest under their shared blanket, his face close to his on the pillow. They’re breathing the same air, and the wash of warmth over their clasped hands makes something stir within him. It’s happiness, almost painful in its intensity. He’s never felt anything quite like it, but then again, Victor’s been a never-ending series of new experiences and surprises ever since he first showed up at their onsen.

The bag of taiyaki sits on the bedside table, forgotten – they never did get around to eating them. Yuuri doesn’t mind the wasted food or money – he can’t mind anything right now. He watches the way Victor’s eyes flicker under his eyelids, the silvery lashes shivering with movement now and then, his face relaxed and ethereal. If he didn’t know better, if he couldn’t feel the warm reality of the hand in his, he would think the person in front of him a creature of fey, something unreal or imagined. He falls asleep counting the soft breaths on Victor’s lips.

In the morning he wakes up before Victor and gets to watch his face come alive, to see the way his eyes light up like the sky at sunrise when they flicker open and meet his own. The smile on his face is tempered by the early hour, somehow muted but no less bright for it, and so true that it makes Yuuri ache down to his bones.

“Good morning,” Yuuri whispers, carefully mouthing out the words in the familiar shapes of his mother tongue.

“Morning,” Victor returns the greeting in the same language, his eyes crinkling at the corners and sparkling from the early sunlight filtering in through the cheap hotel curtains. Sometimes, Yuuri wonders how it’s possible for a person to look as beautiful as this man does on a daily basis. There’s something inherently unfair in it, the effortless grace and beauty that Victor embodies, as if he’s a gift from some passing god, a single piece of divinity left behind to appease the rest of these earthbound mortals, a proof that there is a higher power out there.

Which, well. Yuuri knows that there is, in fact, a higher power, even if he’s uncertain of its reach Over Here. As a kirin, he’s part of that higher power – a distant, broken off branch, discarded the same careless way. He supposes that, following the logic of his thoughts, this makes him and Victor the same. If not by looks, then by the fact of their existence.

“What are you thinking about?” Victor asks quietly, wriggling one hand out of the blankets to brush it over Yuuri’s forehead, smoothing out a wrinkle he can’t see but knows must be there, soothed away by the firm press of sleep-warm fingers.

“You,” Yuuri admits, honest. To his surprise, there’s an apparent flush on his coach’s cheeks, though he doesn’t turn away or shift his eyes from Yuuri’s.

“What a coincidence,” Victor says, instead, one side of his mouth tugging upwards. “I was doing the same.”

It’s too good of an opportunity and obviously, Yuuri isn’t very good at resisting. He doesn’t even try.

“Should I be worried that you spend so much time thinking about yourself?”

It startles a laugh out of Victor, bubbly and honest. It’s nothing like the chuckles he offers to the press, just enough to satisfy their hunger and never a single bit more. Yuuri finds himself laughing with him.

There’s open affection in Victor’s gaze as he moves his hand to brush the fingers through the black strands of Yuuri’s fringe, before pulling it back and shifting to sit up on the bed. “We should get ready, the breakfast hours are probably going to end soon.”

“Especially if you really want to go to Akiba today,” Yuuri agrees, moving to sit up as well, but not before a fleeting press of his palm against Victor’s bare back – because of course he sleeps without a shirt, it’s Victor – in an act of daring that saps all his courage and sends him fleeing to the bathroom to brush his teeth, with flushed cheeks and a smile.

“Don’t take too long,” Victor calls after him, and there’s a smile in his voice, too.

 

The trains and the stations are crowded and confusing. They get lost twice trying to find their way out of the station, which would be fine if they were relying on Victor for navigation but is mostly just embarrassing since Yuuri can read the signs just fine and somehow still manages to pick the wrong way. Victor doesn’t complain, just patiently follows him around with a hand firmly around his waist – to stop him from attempting another disappearing act, according to Victor – curiously observing their surroundings.

“Wow!” Victor says, sounding impressed, when they finally emerge from the station to the sun filled streets of Akihabara. “It’s so busy! And so colourful!”

Yuuri nods in agreement, this being his first time coming to Akiba as well. The street is crowded with people, most of them hurrying on their way to somewhere, some standing around and talking, a few obviously advertising businesses and trying to entice people to enter the stores. Somehow, miraculously, the chaos works – people flow past and among each other as if by some unscripted choreography, the mass moving as one despite its volume.

“Look, Yuuri! It’s a maid!” Victor is pointing to the left, before turning to look at Yuuri with sparkling eyes and a huge grin. “A maid!”

Yuuri gently pushes down the extended arm, refraining from admonishing him for pointing, and smiles back. “She’s probably advertising a maid café,” he explains. “They’re quite common in this area from what I’ve heard.”

“A maid café?” Victor all but yelps, looking inordinately excited at the idea. “We have to go there!”

“Calm down, Victor,” Yuuri laughs helplessly. “I’ll look online for one that speaks English, alright? We can eat there when we get hungry.”

Victor beams at him, looking like a small child in a candy store, before spinning on the spot to take a look all around them, finally pointing to a seemingly random direction. “Let’s go that way!” he states, grabbing the Japanese skater’s hand to pull him along.

They explore the district without a specific aim in mind, just walking around and taking in the sights, entering whatever shops catch their fancy. The end results are somewhat eclectic – Victor’s interest in stores appears to be based on some bizarre scale that Yuuri can’t make head nor tail of. Victor drags them to an AKB show, for one, before trying to convince Yuuri to enter a love hotel because it ‘looks interesting.’ They visit Super Potato just because Victor likes the store’s name, where the Russian skater ends up buying a hand-held game console, claiming to never have owned one before.

When the sun starts to move towards the western end of the sky, Yuuri is looking up the promised maid cafés on his phone, momentarily distracted by the task, and when he turns back to Victor, it’s to catch the Russian man intently listening to a smartly dressed lady who’s moments away from grabbing his arm to drag him into what looks like an art gallery.

“Victor!” Yuuri calls out quickly, hurrying over and grabbing onto the unoccupied arm of his coach. “I found a place, we should get going before they close!”

The last piece is a lie – the café doesn’t close until the little hours of the morning, but the woman won’t know that. Right now it’s more important he get his coach away before he does something they’ll both regret for the rest of their lives.

“Yuuri!” Victor welcomes him back happily, gesturing at the woman eyeing them both hungrily with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile. “This lady here was just telling me of the art they sell, and she said I could have a 50% discount!”

“That’s lovely,” Yuuri assures Victor, already dragging him backwards and away from the trap he almost walked into. “But we really have to get going. Sorry about that!” he shouts at the woman, who takes a step forwards, her face falling, before spotting a new likely target and hurrying off to stop the fashionably dressed teenager with a similar spiel.

“But Yuuri,” Victor whines, “it was half-price! She said their art is to die for!”

“Yes, I’m sure you’d be dead before you paid off the loan you’d have needed,” Yuuri mutters, before sighing. “Has anyone ever told you you’re hopeless with money?”

“Hmm,” Victor taps a finger against his mouth in thought, “nope!”

Yuuri sighs again. Though he has no idea of the way Victor grew up, he supposes that by now the man has enough money to do whatever he pleases with it. His clothes support this theory, since Yuuri doesn’t think he’s seen Victor ever wear anything that doesn’t have a price in four digits, including his socks. Not that he’s spent a lot of time thinking about Victor’s socks, but. You know.

“Come on,” he tells his coach, hoping the man can’t hear the affectionate exasperation in his voice, “you wanted to visit a maid café, didn’t you? There’s one that’s supposed to offer services in English just one block over from here.”

“Oh!” Victor cheers up, his pout disappearing. “Yes, let’s go!”

The café, thankfully, does have English speaking maids, so Victor doesn’t have to stretch his almost non-existent Japanese to struggle through the conversation. The maid outfits at their choice of a café aren’t too outrageous, the skirts a reasonable length, and there are even a few boys mixed in with the girls, all of them welcoming the customers in as if they’re coming home from a business trip.

The maid serving them recommends the omurice, explaining that she’s very skilled with drawing the customer’s request on it with ketchup or sauce. Apparently, it’s a popular choice among their clientele. Victor seems delighted by the idea, so they both order a serving, along with some cold drinks – thankfully not alcohol, so Yuuri won’t have to worry about dragging his intoxicated coach back to the hotel later in the day.

“What would you like me to draw?” their maid asks brightly when she brings out their food, patiently waiting for their choices. Yuuri looks at Victor questioningly.

“Can you draw him?” Victor asks the maid eagerly, pointing at Yuuri, who promptly blushes and hides his face in his hands. When he looks up again, the maid also has a faint blush on her cheeks, but she seems to find the idea very endearing if her happy “of course!” is any indication. Yuuri suffers through the careful consideration of his doubtlessly flushed face in mortified silence, breathing a sigh of relief when she’s done. The end result is admittedly quite skilled – Yuuri can recognize himself in the lines of ketchup (and isn’t that a sentence he never thought he’d say), glasses and long braid and all. There’s even a small heart drawn next to him.

“Well,” Yuuri musters up his lagging courage to say, “if you get me on yours, I suppose I have to get you on mine.”

He looks at the maid expectantly, and if she was blushing before, by now her face is on fire. She keeps on smiling all the way through, though, and expertly draws a miniature Victor on Yuuri’s omurice, squeaking out a quick “enjoy your food” when she’s finished, before hurrying off clutching the bottle of ketchup so tightly Yuuri is surprised it doesn’t explode.

When he glances back at Victor, his coach is slightly flushed as well, but looking much too pleased about the whole thing. Yuuri turns his attention back to the food to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Вкусно!” Victor shouts, catching Yuuri’s attention once more. He smiles at the familiar word, glad that his coach enjoys the food, simple café fare as it may be. To be fair, he’s yet to find a dish Victor _doesn’t_ like, though he’ll often leave specific ingredients – like tomatoes, when they’re not mixed in with the food – on the plate if he can get away with it.

They eat mostly in silence, with occasional comments about the food, their plans when they’re back in Hasetsu, and the café. It’s one of the best meals Yuuri can remember having. When they get back to the hotel, the sun has already set and they busy themselves with packing up what little of their things have managed to wriggle out of their bags to be scattered around the room. Tomorrow they’ll pick up his skates before catching a plane back to Fukuoka airport, returning to Hasetsu and back to their regular training schedule.

Somehow, the short weekend away feels both like it’s passed much too fast and stretched on forever. Yuuri wonders if they’ll have time to do something similar in the future, just enjoy the time they have and do something other than skating. Just two people out, having fun together.

Yuuri finds himself hoping there’ll be more opportunities. It’s the first time he can remember that he actively _wants_ to spend time with another person instead of doing something more important, like skating. It’s a new feeling, but not an unpleasant one; it makes him feel warm, somehow.

That night, they fall asleep on the same bed again. Neither of them has to suggest it – they just settle down as if by a silent agreement. The steady breathing of his coach and the warmth of another body nearby lull Yuuri into sleep much faster than he’s ever managed on his own. If he has any dreams that night, he doesn’t remember them when he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another long chapter. It's not quite as long as the previous one - it's under 11k words, even if just barely. An achievement to be sure! I'm glad I finally got to introduce some progress in their relationship. It's been slow burn in the background this whole time, but there's not been much time to focus on it. On to some more notes about concepts, words and such.
> 
> Skate guards: Someone on Tumblr pointed out that Yuuri's skate guards change in the series, from the colours of Japan to those of Russia, even though his skates stay the same (worn down) pair. Obviously, in this he's getting the new skates, but I decided to include the skate guard theory in some way, since I adored the idea of it.
> 
> Tokyo & Akiba: I have never been to Japan. The descriptions here likely do not reflect reality - everything I know about the two places I learned from the internet or games (like Akiba's Trip, which I actually enjoyed as a game, not so much as an anime). I did check some facts about things like the Skytree and distances, but overall take all the info with a grain of salt.
> 
> Youjuu: These demon-like beasts are, in fact, not youma at all. No one knows where youjuu come from. There is no known tree for them, and no one has ever seen a young youjuu. They can not be made into a shirei by a kirin, but they can be tamed by people unlike demon beasts. They're generally used as mounts and fetch a heavy price because of the difficulty of catching and taming them. While not entirely hostile or aggressive, they will attack if provoked - considering that they eat youma, they make for a frightening opponent in the wild when angered.
> 
> Kijuu: Kijuu are tamed youjuu. Some kinds of youjuu are more suited to becoming kijuu than others, and there are differences in their rarity and value. A suugu (a large, tiger-like white and black beast), for example, would fetch quite a price, while a haku (a horse-like beast with claws and a single horn) would go for less. They are as varied in kind as demon beasts.
> 
> Enki & Shoryu: Before Enki met Shoryu, he was very much against kings, seeing them as nothing but dictators who bring war and destruction. Despite his negative opinion, he knew from the moment he saw Shoryu that this was the king of En, and just the sight of him made him incredibly happy, because of the nature of kirin - something he very much did not like. Enki's story is full of conflict and introspection into the nature of kirins and their lack of choice (and purpose). It might come up again in more detail, but I fully recommend reading his story!
> 
> About Names: 
> 
> The name Yuuri gave to the tenba he met in Koukai (Kanshi) is the other way of reading (On'yomi) the kanji that make up his mother's name. 
> 
> Eiryou's name is formed from the kanji 英良, meaning "excellent, fine" and "good, virtuous." Obviously his parents had high aspirations that didn't quite pan out, though the man did get a high position in the previous king of Kou's court. Since there is a distinct lack of named officials for Kou, the name is original, not from the books.
> 
> Kaishin's name comes from "Sea, ocean" and "twig, yew plum pine (also known as maki)", written as 海槙. Tenken and tenba are actually not similar at all in looks, despite the fact that both are described as dog-like, with wings. Tenken are a bright red and sturdy, and the beak makes them look much more bird-like, while tenba are slender, white (but with a black head), and have a more typical head and snout for a dog. 
> 
>  
> 
> If there are mistakes, or I forgot about something, let me know and I'll try to fix it! As always, thank you for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks, they keep this story alive despite its length and pace. I can't thank you enough for all the feedback!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all who travel are lost, but getting mislaid is often easier than not.

In June, there’s a heat wave that sweeps over all of Japan, prompting those capable of it to retreat inside into rooms equipped with air conditioners. Yuuri has no such luxury – while there are rooms that have an AC at their onsen, most of them are meant for the customers, and he gets told off for slacking by his mother, his sister and Minako-sensei, in turns, when he tries to take advantage of them. His own room has an electric fan, but that’s the height of the relief afforded to him.

Victor doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Yuuri literally stumbles over the man, spread out face down on the floor of his room, prompting a pitiful groan.

“Victor?” the Japanese skater yelps as his arms windmill in an effort to stay upright. Makkachin barks cheerfully at the entertainment, jumping around, most likely seeing it as a fun, new game.

“Yuuriiiii” Victor whines without moving from the floor, not even twitching at being unintentionally kicked by his student.

“Victor – what are you doing?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to get this hot,” his coach complains, moaning pitifully but twisting onto his back to properly see Yuuri. He looks flushed and sweaty, the onsen gown gaping open uselessly, exposing his bare chest and tight stomach muscles for all the world to see. Or just for Yuuri to see, really, since they’re the only ones in the room. Yuuri averts his eyes and flushes.

“I didn’t think it needed mentioning,” he says. “Doesn’t it get hot in Russia in the summer?”

“Not like this!” Victor claims, waving his hands, then visibly wilting from the effort, collapsing on the floor lifelessly once more. “This isn’t hot, this is boiling! How you can stand to do anything in this heat is beyond me.”

“It’s not that bad,” Yuuri mutters, sitting down on the bed and absently petting Makkachin who comes to beg for attention at his side.

“Do you think your mother would mind if I had an AC installed?” Victor says contemplatively, one finger hovering over his mouth in thought.

“No! I mean yes!” Yuuri says, alarmed. He’d think the Russian man to be joking, but he knows better by now than to dismiss seemingly outrageous or ridiculous comments out of hand when it comes to his coach and his over-the-top gestures.

Yuuri’s phone beeps in his pocket and Victor makes a curious noise as the Japanese skater pulls it out to check the notification.

“It’s Chris,” he informs Victor with some surprise. He’s not heard from the Swiss skater since the warning in – and wow, has it already been that long – in April.

Victor suddenly looks more alert. “What’s he saying?”

‘ _Yuuri, a little birdie told me you’re not feeling confident in your eros. Just say the word and I’ll fly over to help you_ ,’ the message says, complete with a wink at the end.

Yuuri blushes what must be an alarming shade of red and starts tapping back a reply, pulling the phone closer to his face as if Victor might see the screen from his position on the floor.

“Nothing,” he tells his coach, still typing furiously. “Just checking up on how we’re doing.”

‘ _Chris!!!_ ’ he makes sure to include as many exclamation marks as his deeply ingrained Japanese sense of propriety will allow, ‘ _don’t joke about something like that! I’m working on it, anyway._ ’

He’s barely started to lower his phone when it beeps with a reply.

‘ _I wasn’t joking_ ,’ the newest text reads. ‘ _I’d be more than happy to help out a fellow skater. But if you’re already working on it, I wish you two the best of luck with it! Send me the details later._ ’

Yuuri stares at the kissy emoji finishing off the message with incredulous silence. His blush has probably transcended a mere skin tone into the realm of physically evaporating the moisture from the air near him if the dryness of his mouth is any sign.

“Yuuri?” Victor queries from the floor. “Are you sure that’s all Chris said?”

“Yes,” Yuuri squeaks, giving up on sending a reply back for now – he’s not sure he can type anything sensible at the moment. “That was all.”

It’s obvious Victor doesn’t believe him from the way his coach hums suspiciously, but thankfully he doesn’t push, just groans and throws an arm over his eyes as if to somehow block out the heat with it. Yuuri eyes the forlorn figure of his coach, considering.

“Do you want to go to the beach?” he asks after a pause.

“The beach!?” Victor cheers up immediately, actually springing into a sitting position, Makkachin startling into letting out a single bark at the sudden movement from her owner.

“Not right now,” Yuuri clarifies quickly. “But if you wanted to go, we could make a trip this weekend. Maybe visit an onsen other than ours, somewhere outside of Hasetsu.”

Isn’t that something people do? He thinks so, from what little he knows. Yuuko and Nishigori took a trip to an onsen somewhere once, maybe he can ask them for recommendations.

“Hmm,” Victor muses, tapping his chin in thought. “If we don’t go too far and only take the weekend, it should be fine. Maybe there’ll even be a rink we can use near the place we pick!”

The Russian skater seems to be getting into the idea, muttering about reservations and travel brochures. Yuuri lets him do that while he checks his phone again, noting a request from Phichit to FaceTime later that evening. He’s probably checking on Yuuri’s progress with his free skate – the Thai skater had contacted Ketty as he’d requested, and Yuuri had talked with her over a series of e-mails. Thankfully the girl hadn’t held any hard feelings over Yuuri’s cold attitude towards her back in Detroit. Victor had been delighted at the song Ketty had sent, declaring it perfect.

“What are you thinking of?” Victor asks suddenly, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts.

“Huh?” Yuuri looks up from his phone, finding Victor right in front of him, bending downwards to loom over his seated form. “Um. Ketty. Ketty Abelashvili, I mean. You know, the composer Phichit and I knew back in Detroit.”

Victor frowns, looking displeased for some reason. “I haven’t heard the story yet, actually. How did you meet?”

Yuuri blinks.

“It wasn’t anything special,” he says slowly. “I think we met at a bar, Phichit dragged me to some student party or something. I don’t remember it too well – I was pretty drunk.”

Victor’s eyes flash with something too fast for Yuuri to track or process.

“Was she a girlfriend?”

“What? No!” Yuuri yelps, slapping his hands over his mouth a second later, mortified. “No,” he repeats, more quietly. “I was pretty cold to her, actually. I feel a bit bad about it. I’m not very good at opening up to people.”

He looks away from Victor’s eyes, his face still much too close for comfort. He’s not proud of most of his time in Detroit, would probably do things differently if he could, but the past is the past and unchangeable. He has to live with his own actions, to accept that he’d been needlessly cold and cruel to most of the people he had met over there. At least Phichit had somehow seen through his façade and gotten him to open up despite himself. The thought brings a smile to his face.

“What are you thinking of now?” Victor asks curiously, reaching out to turn Yuuri’s face back towards him. The kirin sighs, exasperated.

“Phichit,” he says. “Why the sudden interest in my thoughts?”

“You’re expressive,” his coach admits easily. “I want to know more about you.”

Victor pauses, considering.

“I want to know everything about you,” he amends. “I want to know which thoughts bring out which expressions on your face. I want to know what makes you smile and what makes you frown.”

Yuuri is sure his eyes are wide as saucers. All of his words have abandoned the ship, leaving him unable to answer with anything approaching coherency. Luckily, Victor doesn’t seem to expect a reply.

“You and Phichit are close,” the Russian skater says suddenly, stating it as a fact. “Have you known each other for long?”

“Um,” Yuuri blinks at the sudden change in topics. “I suppose? We met in Detroit – he was my roommate, like I’ve mentioned before. Roommate and rink mate.”

“Nothing more?” Victor asks, his tone innocent but the suggestive curl of his lips betrays him.

“Me and Phichit?” Yuuri can’t see the face he’s making, but he’s sure it must be a sight. He’s not sure what feeling to settle on, really. There’s slight revulsion at the thought, like thinking of being _intimate_ with your own family, accompanied by incredulity at the mere thought of it. There’s a good dose of exasperation, amusement, horror. In the end, he settles on exasperation. “Thank heavens, no. That’d be like – just, no.”

“So there’s been no one,” Victor states, looking to Yuuri for affirmation. The Japanese skater flushes again, thinking that all these sudden changes in blood pressure can’t be healthy.

“Not that it has anything to do with _anything_ , but no. There’s been no one. There was never any time and I was, well. I had to focus on college and skating. That was enough for me.”

Victor’s face twitches, making the light from the open windows flicker in his eyes. “ _Was_ enough? Are you saying it’s not, anymore?”

“What? No!” Yuuri denies, waving his hands and dislodging Makkachin from both his lap and the bed in the process. The dog gives him a betrayed look and noses her way out of the room, probably to look for someone to beg for scraps from. Everyone at Yu-topia has a soft spot for the poodle, spoiling her rotten.

“I mean, maybe? I don’t know,” Yuuri stutters, giving up on physically acting out his denial and instead occupying his hands by hiding his face in them. His voice is muffled enough by the physical barrier that he’s hopeful Victor might not be able to understand the words. “You’re the one who told me to explore my eros.”

“Yuuri!” Victor looks delighted, his eyes sparkling. “If it wasn’t so hot in here, I’d hug you! I’m glad you’re finally trying to get closer to understanding the concept of eros!”

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri sighs, removing his hands to glare weakly at the pleased look Victor is aiming at him. “I’m glad you’re glad.”

He’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the weather is apparently detrimental to hugging. It might be best to just not think about it at all.

 

* * *

 

By the time he was 15, Yuuri had grown to despise the near-constant ceremonies at the Meadow-Path Villa. He disliked the disappointed looks he had to face almost daily when he wished yet another hopeful good health until the next solstice or equinox. Even more than that, though, he disliked the disappointed faces of those just waiting for the next king for the sake of Kou rather than themselves, their expressions growing grim and eyes weary as time passed and no king appeared. He knew some of them blamed him, as the kirin, for the state Kou was in – he had heard as much said in whispers when they thought him too far to hear.

Though he always felt guilty afterwards, he developed a routine of sneaking out as often as he could manage. The sages could have forbidden him outright, and he probably would have listened – but they merely accepted his absences with understanding smiles and a slight scolding for worrying them. He came to know Koukai as something akin to a second home, albeit a dangerous one. He had yet to clash with anything his shirei couldn’t handle though, and they often avoided trouble in the first place by keeping alert and choosing to avoid areas with clear signs of a demon presence.

It was by pure chance that they wandered into what appeared to be the remains of a fight between two demon beasts. There had been no outright signs of a youma making the area their hunting ground, but it must have been the territory of one nevertheless – the carnage in the small clearing between the twisted trunks of the gnarled trees was fresh, though the smell of rotting flesh and blood hung over the ground like a thick, suffocating fog. The remains of a large demon beast were scattered around, the predator not having bothered to feast on any of it; a kill for the sake of killing, rather than nourishment.

Yuuri lifted a sleeve to cover his nose, trying not to breathe in the heavy, cloying scent of iron. He was sat on a kogou, a demon beast resembling a massive leopard with fur the colour of rust; one of his more recent shirei.

“ _It must still be close_ ,” Kousen – as the kogou was named – growled, the fur at his neck bristling and his posture alert, almost nervous. Yuuri suspected that the leopard-like beast was still fairly young by the standards of the youma, despite its size and ferocity. Kousen didn’t speak up often, but Yuuri thought that had more to do with hesitance and youth than the lack of things to say.

“ _We should leave before it returns, Kouki_ ,” Shinri’s worried voice suggested, echoing strangely in the air without a point of origin.

“ _It, or any of the others who’ll have smelled the blood_ ,” Kousen grumbled, his tail twitching. “ _This place will be teeming with youma soon._ ”

“Yes,” Yuuri agreed, glancing around uneasily. He wasn’t keen on meeting the demon beast behind the macabre scene they had stumbled on, either – nor the other, numerous demons who’d be drawn by the heavy scent of blood. “Let’s go.”

It was a well-known fact among those who braved the Yellow Sea regularly, that demons used their sense of smell to locate prey more than any of the other senses available to them. True, they could see and hear just fine, but both of these were secondary to their ability to smell. Blood, especially, was sure to bring demon beasts running from miles away. At night-time, staying still and quiet and near something fragrant, away from groups, was one way to be careful in the case of a demon attack – the darkness would hinder their sight almost the same it did for humans and being still was close to being silent. Provided the demon was sufficiently distracted by other prey, it was possible to survive a demon rampage like this – though most people would be hard pressed to remain still in the face of such terror.

Yuuri had heard plenty of stories about youma attacks from the pilgrims. They were a common occurrence on a shouzan: the pilgrimage to Mount Hou to be judged by the kirin. By the time the caravans reached Hohzan, their numbers were often cut by half or more – the people slowly picked off by hungry demon beasts over the long journey. Sometimes, a caravan would depart on the journey and never return. The Yellow Sea was the home of the youma and the youjuu, a cold land that would not yield to human influence; located outside the borders of any of the twelve kingdoms, and thus beyond the reach of their divine protection. To enter was to give your fate and life into the hands of gods, relying on luck to see you through to the end.

Before they could follow through with the plan, a noise from nearby caught their attention, causing the shirei to twitch in agitation while Yuuri pulled on his fur and hesitated. It was most likely a demon, either the one behind the carnage or one of the others drawn by the smell. They should hurry and leave, but – to Yuuri, the noise had sounded like a gasp made by a human voice, not the growl of a youma or the sound of the skittish wildlife.

“ _Kouki_ ,” Shinri spoke, her voice tinged with both caution and warning.

“I know,” Yuuri said, but didn’t encourage the kogou to move. Instead, despite the madness of it and the way his instincts were ringing in alarm, the kirin dismounted his shirei, ignoring its quiet growl of protest, and took a few hesitant steps towards where the sound had come from.

“Hello?” he called out, voice uncertain. “Is someone there?”

There was the snap of some twigs from behind one of the skeletal trees, and a sound that was definitely human in origin.

“Do you need help? Are you injured?” Yuuri called out again, eyeing his surroundings warily. They couldn’t afford to stay much longer, but if there was someone there, someone injured at that, he couldn’t really leave them here either, or he would be abandoning them to a certain death.

There was a long stretch of silence, and just as Yuuri was starting to lose hope of receiving a reply, a voice suddenly piped up.

“Yes,” it said, quiet, then “yes – please,” louder. It was the thin voice of a youth, perhaps even a child, made high by pain or panic, Yuuri couldn’t know for sure.

“Can you walk? Do you need me to help you?” Yuuri asked, now calmer with the knowledge that it had been a person as he thought.

“ _We must hurry_ ,” Shinri urged, Kousen growling his agreement. “ _Get the child if you must, but we have to go, Kouki._ ”

“I can’t walk,” came the reluctant reply to Yuuri’s question from behind the tree. The kirin cast one more glance towards his shirei and the surroundings, then nodding.

“Kousen,” he said, hesitating. What he was about to suggest could very well mean the shirei’s death, but it was a solid plan. The kogou seemed to sense his thoughts, though, for the beast simply nodded his head, not waiting for further instructions before leaping away and into the canopy of the twisted trees, dragging a dismembered, still dripping beast foot from the carnage behind him as he went.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured, silently praying that he would see his shirei again. Kousen would act as bait, in the case the demon – or any others – returned, to draw them away from Yuuri and his new friend. Shinri didn’t object to the plan, didn’t voice anything beyond an almost inaudible sigh.

Yuuri moved carefully around the deceptively fragile looking undergrowth – he knew from experience that despite their appearance, the gnarled brushwood and shrubs were both tough and remarkably sharp. Stepping on one was more likely to result in a painful puncture wound than a snapped plant.

The boy behind the tree was young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and lean and thin in a way that spoke of a hard life spent on the move, with not enough food. He had dirty pale, blue-tinged hair that fell into his eyes in a shaggy, uneven cut. It was immediately obvious why he had stayed at the spot and not tried to flee – the arms clutched around his feet did little to hide the way one of them was bent at an unnatural angle, obviously broken. There were scratches all over the boy’s skin, still bleeding sluggishly.

“Hello,” Yuuri said hesitantly, determinedly not taking a step backwards when the boy’s eyes snapped towards him full of suspicion and almost bristling in an effort to appear threatening rather than frail with fatigue. It was a futile effort – the child looked more like a small, hissing kitten than anything remotely dangerous, but Yuuri thought it best not to voice that thought.

“Where’re the others?” the boy said, suspicious, glancing around as if expecting people to leap out from the bushes and attack him. “I heard more voices than just you.”

“Kousen went to draw off the demons,” Yuuri explained honestly, kneeling and reaching towards the injured foot, silently asking for permission to see the injury.

“To draw them off!?” the boy shouted, his voice breaking. “Are you mad? That’s suicide! The thing that did that” – and he gestured towards the clearing, from where the almost sweet scent of iron was still wafting uncomfortably through the air around them – “isn’t something that can be dealt with by a thousand men, let alone just one! The only reason I’m alive is because of the other demon – which it killed in seconds, by the way. If it had noticed me, I would’ve been dead even _faster_!”

Yuuri had remained quiet through the verbal abuse, observing the twisted foot with a furrowed brow. It was definitely bad, but the skin had not been broken – that was lucky, at least, and left less chance for an infection. Even if the leg healed, it would likely never be completely straight again. The boy would have a limp and possibly pains for the rest of his life, and judging by the grunting sound the boy made as he quieted and noticed the object of Yuuri’s attention, he was aware of it.

“Can you handle it if I splint your foot?” Yuuri asked, ignoring the earlier spiel completely. The boy snorted, waving his hand as if to tell him to have at it.

“If you’re that set on letting your buddy die, then who am I to argue?”

“I don’t want him to die,” Yuuri denied, considering the broken branches littering the forest floor around them, finally picking the two that seemed sturdier and straighter than the others. “But I trust him to take care of himself. Kousen is strong, he’ll be fine.”

Or at least that’s what Yuuri hoped. If he wasn’t, it would be Yuuri’s fault, after all. But it was what shirei were for – to serve and to protect the kirin. He could only place his faith in Kousen and trust the demon’s strength to see him through.

The boy made a small sound of disbelief, but then went quiet as Yuuri set to work on his foot, obviously biting back grunts of pain with gritted teeth. It was almost cute, the way he was refusing to show any weakness, even if unnecessary.

By the time Yuuri pulled back to look over his work, the boy was pale and sweating, swaying from the pain and shock. The kid’s leg looked as good as it would get without some proper medical attention. Yuuri had used the two sticks and the string from his own clothes – the one he used to hold up the sleeves when he wanted to be able to move his arms without hindrance – to straighten out and support the leg, making sure the fit was tight and wouldn’t give or bend under strain, without cutting off the circulation.

“This will do for now,” Yuuri voiced out loud, “but you really need someone with actual medical knowledge to have a look at it.”

“Obviously,” the boy grunted, eyeing Yuuri’s attempt at a splint with some disdain. “I’m glad you’re not a professional. You suck at this.”

“We have to go, now, if you can stand,” Yuuri said, ignoring the pointed words. “Even with Kousen acting as a distraction, the blood will attract too many demons for him to divert them all.”

“Obviously,” the boy repeated drily, but didn’t refuse the hand Yuuri extended to help hoist him up. With a grunt of pain and some new sweat beading his hairline, the kid stood up, swaying slightly from the sudden change in altitude.

“Do you have a name?” Yuuri asked abruptly. “I don’t want to keep calling you ‘boy’ in my mind.”

“You seriously have no imagination,” the boy snorted, leaning heavily on Yuuri even while attempting to conceal it. “But yes, I do in fact have a name. Not that I’ve heard you tell me yours.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, surprised by the realization. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Hmm,” the boy replied noncommittally. “Well then, Yuuri. I’m Sekishi. If we actually live through this, I’ll try to remember your name.”

“We need to get somewhere safe and with people, hopefully,” Yuuri mused. He considered calling for one of his shirei and taking the boy to Mount Hou, but they were pretty far from the mountain and he didn’t know how the kid – Sekishi, as his name apparently was – would react to the sudden appearance of a demon beast. Probably not favourably, given the circumstances.

For some reason, his comment was worth a sharp look and furrowed eyebrows. “You mean you’re not-”

The sentence was cut off abruptly, Sekishi biting back the words as if trying to swallow them back and erase them.

“I’m not – what?” Yuuri asked, his confusion clear in his voice.

“Nevermind,” Sekishi said, almost forcefully. “If you’re not, you’re not.”

“But not _what_ ,” Yuuri muttered, before sighing. “I take it you won’t have any good suggestions, then? Like where you came from, for example? Not with a shouzan?”

“A shouzan?” the other boy snorted. “Not likely. What good do the kirin ever do in here?”

Even if unintentional, the words stung, though Yuuri tried not to let them bother him. It was true, after all – he hadn’t done much good for Kou, which was his _kingdom_ , let alone the Yellow Sea, despite them both being his home in a way.

Sekishi gave him an unreadable look at the stretching silence, then sighed himself.

“Look – you’re not one of us, and this goes against pretty much everything and I might just get killed for it, but,” the boy hesitated, looking away from Yuuri, but not before the kirin saw the uncertain expression and the slight flush. “For some reason, I feel like I can trust you. Heaven knows why, you don’t seem like a very reliable guy at all, but there it is. So yes. I do know a place.” There was a pause. “I just hope I won’t end up regretting this. Or dead.”

The last bit was muttered lowly, but not missed by Yuuri with how close he was standing to Sekishi, given that he was supporting the other boy’s body with his own.

“Great!” Yuuri perked up, deciding to ignore the insulting parts of the message and focus on the good news. “Point the way then.”

Confusing and rude as Sekishi was, he didn’t seem like a bad person – hopefully following him to whatever place he had in mind wouldn’t end up badly for _either_ of them, despite the other boy’s misgivings. Besides, there was a mystery here, in words left unsaid, and Yuuri was always much too curious for his own good. It was his curiosity that brought him to this side, when Shinri first pulled him from the small, comfortable world that was all he knew before Mount Hou. Perhaps curiosity would broaden his world once more.

 

* * *

 

They decide on Takeo, mostly because of its reputation for hot springs and its proximity to Hasetsu. The heat of the approaching summer is still oppressive, forcing the air conditioning on their train to work its hardest in an effort to compensate. It does little, with all the traffic both on and off the train, but it’s still at least a little cooler on the train than it is outside.

“It’s a shame Makkachin couldn’t come,” Victor laments, watching Yuuri scroll his Instagram feed from the seat next to his. Yuuri is sitting in the seat next to the aisle, so that Victor can enjoy the passing scenery outside the window, not that he seems to be making much of an effort on that.

“You do know most hot springs don’t allow pets,” Yuuri points out, not lifting his eyes from his phone. Phichit, who can survive on less than five hours of sleep and somehow manages to post updates and selfies even while sleeping, makes up about 80% of his feed, but he dutifully likes all of the new photos. “It’s lucky that my parents have always liked dogs.”

“Really?” Victor asks, curious, and leans more heavily on Yuuri, throwing one arm around his shoulders in a semi-hug. “Why didn’t you get a dog, then?”

“Didn’t you say it was too hot?” Yuuri complains, but shifts to better support the added weight. “I’m sure they would’ve liked to get one, but I don’t have the best record with animals.”

“What?” Victor all but yelps, pulling back a little to better show his horrified expression. “Why didn’t you say something? Does Makkachin bother you? Yuuuriii, why didn’t you tell me!”

“Oh,” Yuuri belatedly realizes how his words might be taken and quickly backpedals. “I didn’t mean that – no, Makkachin is fine, she’s lovely. It’s not that I don’t like animals, it’s mostly that they don’t seem to like _me_.”

Victor frowns. “Makkachin likes you,” he points out needlessly. “I suppose that just shows that Makkachin has much better taste than most dogs in Japan.”

Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely. “I’m sure it’s the nationality that makes all the difference,” he says, instead. Victor nods, appearing satisfied with his agreement, completely ignoring the slight sarcasm in his tone.

“Oh, it’s Chris,” Victor says out of the blue, having managed to scroll down further on Yuuri’s Instagram feed without him noticing while he was distracted by the topic.

“Hey,” Yuuri admonishes with a faint frown that lacks all heat. It’s too hot to get annoyed, really, and he’s mostly used to Victor’s casual intrusion of his personal space by now. He supposes that invading his personal _online_ space is just the next logical step.

“Hmm,” Victor hums dismissively, poking the like under the photo before Yuuri can stop him.

“Hey!” This time the protest is a bit louder and a bit more indignant. Yuuri’s fingers hover uselessly over the phone’s screen, hesitating on the best course of action – would it be rude to unlike something after he’s already “liked” it, even if it wasn’t _him_ that did the actual liking? Would Chris mind? What is he thinking, of course Chris would mind.

“Why did you do that,” Yuuri complains, pulling his phone away from Victor, just managing to avoid another like on a photo of who-knows-what by someone he apparently follows. Quite possibly Yurio’s fanclub, and he does _not_ want his name to appear anywhere in their posts, thank you very much. He only follows them to keep up with news on the younger skater, but there’s no way Yurio would believe him if he said as much.

“What?” Victor blinks at him innocently. “You weren’t going to like it?”

“No!” Yuuri sighs forcefully. “He’s not wearing any clothes! Of course I wasn’t going to like a photo like that!”

“Why not?” Victor appears utterly confused by the notion. Obviously, the concepts of self-restraint or body-shyness are lost on him.

“Just – never mind,” Yuuri gives up on trying to explain.

“How do you know he’s not wearing any clothes, anyway,” Victor asks, reaching for Yuuri’s phone once more. The Japanese skater hesitates before grudgingly handing it over with a warning look. “You can’t see his lower half, he could be wearing pants or something.”

“Knowing Chris?” Yuuri mutters doubtfully. “Besides, you can see his – well. Those tan lines go pretty far down, is all.”

Victor hmms thoughtfully, considering the photo with a careful eye, then concedes the point with a nod. It’s a good photo, objectively, even if rather risqué – Chris is obviously enjoying the heat, if his lack of clothes is any sign. The setting implies a poolside somewhere, hopefully a private one given his state of dress; despite the framing of the shot, the tan lines on the upper half of his buttocks are a fairly obvious indication that there’s no swimming trunks or underwear in sight.

“I’ll have to post something from the hot springs later,” Victor says decisively, still looking at Chris’ post. “I can’t let Chris have all the fun.”

“Victor,” Yuuri begins, cautiously. “You do realize that it’s highly likely the hot springs we’re going to doesn’t allow photographs in the baths?”

“What!?” Victor exclaims in shock, clutching at his chest with the arm not occupied with serving as a pillow for Yuuri’s head. “But Yuuri, how will I document our first hot springs trip if I can’t take pictures?”

Yuuri pats the hand hanging over his shoulder in a gesture of compassion. “You can still take pictures when not in the onsen,” he reminds the sulking man. “Besides – though don’t take this as an encouragement – I’m fairly sure you could convince the owners to allow you to take a selfie in the baths if you mention the opportunity for advertisement. Yuuko said that the couple that owns the onsen are fans of ice skating.”

“Oh!” Victor cheers up immediately. “I wonder if they’d allow me to take one of you in the onsen as well?”

“What? Victor, no!”

 

The onsen is a fairly large one, much bigger than their family-owned Yu-topia back in Hasetsu. There are a lot more guests, too, even with the increase they’ve seen ever since Victor turned up at their door. Yuuri tries to remain objective and not draw too many comparisons; it’d likely not contribute much to enjoyment.

“So Japanese!” Victor declares at first sight of the front gate, which, admittedly, is rather impressive – a two-storied Romon gate in bright shades of red and white, contrasting beautifully with the darkening sky, artistically framed by the backdrop of forest-covered mountains.

“It’s somewhat odd not being able to see the sea,” Yuuri murmurs, adjusting his shoulder bag absentmindedly. He’s familiar with mountains – he grew up on Mount Hou, after all – but there’s something odd about being surrounded by such Japanese scenery and the mountains at the same time, a strange dreamlike veil that blends two of his realities together in a disorienting way. Even if the hills here are much greener and more full of life than the ones he once called home.

“I’ll miss the sound of the seagulls in the morning,” Victor agrees. “Besides, there’s no ninja castle! That’s already one tick for the negatives.”

“I didn’t know we were counting scores,” Yuuri says, amused.

“We’re not,” Victor assents easily. “It wouldn’t be much of a competition, anyway. Hasetsu would win by a landslide.”

“Really?” Yuuri asks, curious despite his doubts as to the legitimacy of a scoring system à la Victor. “How so?”

“Well,” Victor taps his chin thoughtfully. “They have you.”

“Victor,” Yuuri whines and buries his face in his hands in a gesture that’s becoming second nature for him. He’s not sure why he even bothers being embarrassed by all the things his coach says, anymore. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

Their room is more impressive than what Yuuri would have chosen, had it been up to him, but Victor had insisted on something much grander – in the end, they had compromised on a 10-tatami mat room with a private outdoor bath, rather than one of the more simple eight mat rooms with shared facilities. Yuuri has to admit that the room is more intimate and welcoming than he had expected, and the view is simply stunning.

“Do you want to stay in today, or should we go out?” Yuuri asks, after they’re finished settling in, unpacking some of the necessities. Victor considers the question with more thought than it probably requires, apparently indecisive on the best course of action.

“We could visit the public hot springs,” Victor finally suggests. “I’m sure they’d do wonders after all that travelling. Didn’t you mention that the place we’re going to visit also requires taking a train? I’m not sure I want to spend any more time on them today.”

Yuuri concedes the point with a nod. A soak in the hot springs does sound good after a long day of moving from point a to point b, first by the train, then by foot. It’s nowhere near as taxing as a typical day at the rink, but there’s a different sort of fatigue that comes with long trips and a change of scenery, something more mental than physical in nature. While a hot bath might be prescribed more often for muscle strains and physical exhaustion, Yuuri’s mother maintains that it’s a wonderful cure-all, be the affliction physical, mental, or metaphysical. “A hot bath cures it all!” is what she would say, if she were there to offer her thoughts.

“Do you want to eat in the public dining rooms today, as well?” Yuuri asks, rummaging around in the closet for the complimentary onsen robes. “I think they can bring the food to the rooms if you’d prefer that.”

“Let’s socialize, Yuuri!” Victor immediately cheers. “I want to see what kind of sake they have here!”

“You’re going to drink?” Yuuri voices, suddenly somewhat worried. He knows the kind of drunk Victor is all too well – he has a tendency to either strip or get uncomfortably clingy, sometimes both at once. Often both at once, really, though Minako-sensei had claimed that the Russian man wasn’t quite as bad the times Yuuri had been unable (or unwilling) to join, which – well, he’s not sure how to take that information. Either he’s a horrible enabler, or something about him just encourages public nudity. Yuuri’s not sure which option is worse.

“You don’t want me to?” Victor blinks at Yuuri with confusion in his eyes and his voice.

“Ah – no, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” Yuuri denies. He meant it precisely that way. But if he admits as much aloud, Victor will either pull out the dreaded puppy eyes or, even worse, somehow convince Yuuri to join in. If drunk Victor is the metaphorical equivalent of a classic Disney movie – mildly embarrassing yet oddly endearing – drunk Yuuri is something akin to a Monty Python marathon – rambunctious and irrepressible.

Maybe it has something to do with his nature or biology as a kirin, or perhaps he was just born susceptible to alcoholic beverages. Whatever the cause, Phichit used to say that drinking with Yuuri was like tossing the coin between a complete disaster and the best night of everyone’s lives. Everyone but Yuuri himself, that is, since amnesia came part and parcel with drinking for him. Whenever he drank more than one glass, he was sure to wake up confused and with no recollection of the previous night, often in strange places and even stranger situations.

One memorable example would be the time he woke up from one of the best nights of sleep he had ever gotten, cozily curled within the circle of the big, plastic donut that made up the letter o for the neon sign of a local pastry place.  It took some very confused pedestrians, one deadpan barista and a rather old and shaky ladder to solve that one.

Needless to say, Yuuri doesn’t like to drink. The disastrous Grand Prix after-banquet is another fine example of the poor choices he’s been known to make while under the influence.

“Let’s go, Yuuri!” Victor’s voice startles him out of the film reel of his life flashing in front of his eyes. The Russian skater is already at the door to their room, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to another, smiling expectantly and completely unaware of the minor breakdown Yuuri is experiencing right in front of his eyes.

“Um,” Yuuri says, ever astute. “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll join you in a second? I need to find the case for my glasses.”

“Okay! I’ll wait for you at the entrance, then!” Victor agrees cheerfully.

Yuuri takes in the silence of the room after the larger-than-life presence of his coach finally leaves, allowing him some room to breathe and gather his scattered thoughts. Somehow, being in unfamiliar surroundings appears to have made him even more prone to panicking than usual. If he wants to enjoy the weekend they have ahead of them, he needs to pull himself together and stop obsessing over the small things and past mistakes.

“Alright,” Yuuri tells himself firmly, easily locating the missing case in his bag, between two folded shirts, “you can do this. Just don’t overthink things and stay calm.”

Right, stay calm. Don’t overthink. Some of the best advice he’s ever given himself. Now he just has to actually follow it.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t think there were any villages in the Yellow Sea,” Yuuri said slowly as he stared at what should have been an impossible sight. No one, other than the demons or the fey, made their home in Koukai. It wasn’t just that it was dangerous – it was downright laughable as an idea. There was little to no food to be found, and the demons and the youjuu posed a constant risk. The water around was often poisonous, trade would have been nigh impossible with the gates the only way outside, and even those opening only four times a year, each for a single day. How did they manage to survive?

“Yeah, well,” Sekishi grunted from beside him, “that’s what we want them to think.”

“But why?” Yuuri asked, his confusion apparent. “Why hide it? Why build a village in Koukai in the first place?”

“You know about the corpse hunters and the koushu, right?” Sekishi

“You mean the people who hunt down and tame youjuu?” Yuuri asked, tilting his head and blinking.

“That’s just one part of it,” Sekishi sniffed. “But let’s see if we’re going to get killed before I educate you more on the things you should already know.”

As if summoned by the words, they were suddenly surrounded by a ragtag group of men, all glowering down at them. Yuuri hadn’t heard them coming – they must have sneaked up close in the cover provided by the rough terrain before revealing themselves.

“Sekishi,” one of them spoke gruffly, stepping forward. He was a bear-like man with a scruffy beard and strong features and piercing eyes the colour of rye. “You know the rules.”

“Yes,” Sekishi said, shifting uneasily in spot as much as he was able, given the state of his leg. “But he’s not from outside.”

“He’s not of the koushu no tami,” the man argued back, frowning severely.

“I know,” Sekishi agreed, then repeated: “But he’s not from the outside.”

The men exchanged wary glances, obviously at a loss. Yuuri waited in silence, knowing that his shirei were listening attentively, ready to spring forth at a moment’s notice.

“Fine,” the man who had spoken earlier finally said, resolute. “But if he turns out to be a risk, we will follow the rules. He can enter – for now.”

“Looks like you get to hear the story after all, Yuuri,” Sekishi said, sagging slightly against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I’m sure it’ll be a riveting tale,” Yuuri replied, “but it can wait until your foot has been seen to.”

The man from earlier sighed, then moved to Sekishi and kneeled down in front of him, facing away. “Get on,” he grunted to the boy, impatiently wiggling his fingers. Sekishi blushed furiously, taking a quick glance at Yuuri who whipped his eyes away and pretended not to notice, as the boy grumbled under his breath but slowly climbed on the man’s back without any true complaining.

“My name is Mugen,” the man spoke, the suddenness of it startling Yuuri slightly. “I don’t know how you met Sekishi or what the story there is, but it’s obvious you helped him out when he was in trouble. We are thankful.” The man, Mugen, eyed him sideways, sounding almost apologetic when he continued. “But even so, we must follow the rules. If you present a risk to the village, there will be no hesitation in doing what must be done.”

Yuuri swallowed silently, fairly sure he had just been delivered a death threat. He could feel the bristling of his shirei, ready to retaliate, but refused to react to their indignant fury, almost tangible in its strength.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he said, instead. “Everyone has things they want to protect. I can see why you would want to keep your village safe. I will just have to prove myself.”

“We’ll see,” Mugen grunted, falling silent once more. The uneasy hush followed them through the long walk to the village, the rest of the men surrounding them like a curtain about to descend.

 

“Did you know, a long while back the passports for travelers – entertainers, itinerants, peddlers, the lot – used to be yellow?” Sekishi asked, staying grudgingly still as a woman fussed over his extended leg, another bringing in a tray with two cups of steaming hot tea and setting it down near them, offering a distracted smile at Yuuri before hurrying away once more.

“I thought the temporary kind of passports have a red stripe,” Yuuri answered, staring curiously at his new friend.

They were sat in a small hut, formed of rock and branches, a seemingly makeshift building that was at odds with the cozy interior. The whole village was mostly built from stone and rock, seemingly grafted into the very ground it sat upon, most likely to protect from the demon beasts and to remain hidden.

“They do,” Sekishi nodded to the unasked question. “But they say they used to be yellow. Apparently they stopped because it was disrespectful to the kirin or some rot like that, since yellow is the colour of the kirin.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, his voice small, turning to regard his cup of tea with slight embarrassment.

“Koushu no tami means the people of the red and yellow,” Sekishi continued. “Everyone knows about the shushi or ‘corpse hunters’ as they call them, and the goushi, the people who act as guardians for those attempting a shouzan. You can refer to us all as koushu or shumin – some even use koumin. But we call ourselves koushu no tami.”

“Alright,” Yuuri agreed. “But how does that end up with a village in the Yellow Sea?”

“People with red passports have no home. Did you know, most folk like us, those with no actual kingdom to call their home, give up their passport in return for a place in a household?”

Yuuri shook his head quietly.

“They do. I guess it’s nice to have stability and it’s probably more secure than a life on the road. Some refugees sell their children to guilds, others seek employment as live-in servants in some of the wealthier households. They treat it like employment, but in reality it’s little better than slavery.”

Sekishi’s voice belied his words – it was impassionate and monotone, like reciting from a book or a story he knew well, had heard so many times himself that he had grown bored of it.

“To give up your passport is to give up your freedom,” Sekishi said. “You sign away your life and those of your children. You’ll never receive a homestead and all that you have is what you are gifted by your masters. Most won’t pay servants in money, because they don’t want to risk run-aways; so what you get is the roof over your head, the clothes on your back and some food on the table. Since you’re not registered on the census, lacking identity, you’ll work until you die, unable to retire, eventually to be buried in a potter’s field.”

“That’s..”

Yuuri couldn’t think of words to express his feelings. He was aware of entertainers, knew that there were refugees in every kingdom, travelers without a true home, but he had never heard of their circumstances or how they were treated.

“I’m sure it’s not all bad, and there are probably some good ‘masters’ out there, too,” Sekishi said dispassionately, obviously not holding much faith in his own words. “But being one of the ‘undocumented’ isn’t an easy life for most. Koushu no tami belong to no kingdom, but we all chose to keep our identity and to not hand over our passports to some ‘lord’ to threaten us with. We have no emperor and no kirin, and we don’t need them – we have ourselves, and our hard work, and no one to tell us off for it.”

“But how can you have a town without a riboku?” Yuuri asked, pointing out the obvious flaw. Riboku was the source of life, and each village had one, or there would be no children, no livestock – no sustainable life. Even plants required a yaboku to thrive. If there was no tree to carry life, how could they survive?

“We have one,” Sekishi said. He was staring at Yuuri, meeting his eyes without once glancing away. It was obvious they had arrived to the point.

Yuuri blinked. “How?” he asked.

“All riboku of a kingdom are grafts from the imperial tree. They will only grow within that kingdom, though – and the Yellow Sea belongs to no kingdom at all.”

“Then how did you get one?”

“Not just one, but twelve,” Sekishi countered, his voice quiet but strong. The woman working on his leg finally deemed her work done, giving the gauze covering it a single tap before rising to stand, executing a small, quick nod towards them both before leaving the hut.

“It’s said that the Kenrou Shinkun gifted them to the koushu no tami. He petitioned the Emperor of the Heavens for us, and was granted the cuttings.”

“And it worked?” Yuuri asked, curious.

“Obviously,” Sekishi scoffed. “We’re here, aren’t we? But it came with a price. Most riboku can’t be harmed by anything, be it humans or demons, or even natural disasters. Ours aren’t like that – it’s said if anyone that’s not of the koushu touches one, it will die.”

“Oh,” Yuuri spoke, his voice full of the sense of realization. “That’s why it’s a secret.”

“Well, that among other things,” Sekishi amended for him. “There’s also the fact that no one would be happy to learn about our existence, or the fact that we have our own riboku. So it’s a secret, and all the koushu born on one of our trees are told the truth once they’re old enough to understand and keep the secret.”

“It’s amazing that no one has found out so far,” Yuuri pointed out, still reeling from the information.

“Oh, some do,” Sekishi disagreed, his tone bland, pointedly studying the twists of the branches that made up the ceiling of the hut. “They’re simply killed so they can’t spread the word.”

Yuuri stared.

“Don’t worry,” Sekishi spoke calmly, as if he hadn’t just told Yuuri he was going to be killed. “I’m fairly sure we can convince them that you’re not a threat.”

“Right,” Yuuri said faintly. “You’re fairly sure.”

“Besides, it’s not like that many people wander into the Yellow Sea,” Sekishi continued, waving his hand dismissively. “There haven’t been that many incidents of discovery. Most shouzan have several goushi along with them, and they know better than to steer the people past any of our villages.”

“You said that before,” Yuuri recalled. “Goushi were the guardians for shouzan and shushi the, um, corpse hunters?”

“Yes. Goushi offer their skills to people looking for some protection for the trip through the Yellow Sea. It’s a way to earn money, I guess. But shushi are more respected – they risk their lives taming youjuu for some of the big money. Outsiders call them corpse hunters, supposedly because they’re more likely to bring back the corpse of their friends than a youjuu.”

“I’ve seen goushi before,” Yuuri realized, thinking back to the groups that arrived and left Mount Hou regularly. There were often rugged people who seemed to stay slightly apart from the rest in the groups, holding their distance but simultaneously keeping an eye on everything. Protecting them, he now knew.

“Oh?” Sekishi raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Yuuri started to reply before coughing in alarm and swallowing back his words.

Right, he probably couldn’t say that he saw them often enough on Mount Hou, could he? He had told Sekishi he wasn’t part of a shouzan, so claiming that would not work – but what other reason would he have had to be on Hohzan?

“ _Perhaps you should tell him_ ,” Shinri’s quiet voice suggested within his mind, out of the blue.

Yuuri blinked in lieu of a reply.

“ _The boy seems to be aware that something is off_ ,” Shinri said. “ _He might have realized your nature_.”

“Um,” Yuuri said.

“Is this the part where you tell me you’re the kirin?” Sekishi asked, smirking at him expectantly.

Yuuri buried his face in his hands and sighed.

 

* * *

 

It probably goes without saying, but Yuuri does not manage to keep Victor from drinking. He considers it a success that he _does_ manage to keep _himself_ from drinking. He’ll chalk it as a win and leave it at that – it’s not like he dislikes Victor trying to climb him like a koala on its tree of choice. He’s more than used to that by now.

It does present a slight problem the next day, when he tries to coax a hungover Victor into getting ready to go out, but Yuuri remains firm in the face of the pouting, the pained groans and the zombie like shambling.

“Come on,” Yuuri speaks softly to avoid worsening the doubtless pounding headache his coach must be suffering from, “you’ll feel better after you eat something.”

“But Yuuri,” Victor whines pitifully, “look at my hair! I can’t go out looking like this.”

“Really?” Yuuri replies, lifting his eyebrows and keeping his expression blank. “I remember you going out just fine in much worse conditions after a night of drinking, back home.”

“But that was in Hasetsu, and only to the rink!” Victor gasps, looking horrified. “What if someone posts a photo of me on instagram! What if I get asked for selfies?”

“I doubt they would care,” Yuuri sighs. “They’d probably be happy to get a selfie with you if you were still drunk and throwing up on them.”

“Well, yes,” Victor concedes with the ease of an internationally acclaimed celebrity, “but I would care. Very much so. I’m not sure my image could survive a blow like that.”

“You mean your ego,” Yuuri mumbles under his breath, then straightens up and musters the best glare he can manage and directs it at the lump flopped over the inn futons dramatically. “I suppose if you’re going to insist, I will just have to go by myself, then,” Yuuri muses, his voice back to normal volume.

Victor stares at him with his mouth open in shock, then scrambles to get dressed.

 

In the end, it only takes the Russian skater half an hour and a solid, traditional Japanese breakfast to look presentable once more. Yuuri wonders at the speed of the recovery – if he didn’t know better, he’d accuse his coach of faking his earlier state of hungover.

“Where was it we’re going again?” Victor asks for the third time, when they’re sitting on the rather empty train, watching the trees whip by outside.

“Takeo shrine,” Yuuri reminds him. Sometimes he wonders if Victor’s memory is truly that selective, or if he has some actual, undiagnosed memory issue. “It’s pretty famous. People go there to pray for good fortune in love, marriage and finance – they have two sacred cypress trees that grow together, intertwined by both their branches and the roots.”

“Is that why we’re going there?” Victor asks, his eyes glinting with amusement. “To pray for luck in love and marriage?”

“No,” Yuuri groans, and reaches to pinch the body part closest to his hand, which happens to be Victor’s thigh, earning a small ‘ow’ for his efforts. “I thought you might like it. They’re most famous for the massive camphor tree that grows near the shrine. It’s over three thousand years old, and one of the largest trees in all of Japan.”

“Wow,” Victor looks suitably impressed. Yuuri tugs his sleeve to make him stand up as he moves toward the doors in preparation for getting off the train. “This is our stop,” he explains over his shoulder to his coach, who follows him without protest.

They walk slowly, enjoying the weather and the view. The way to the shrine is twisting and calm, a forest-path with both bamboo and green trees in a beautiful carpet created by nature. Victor has a smile on his face, looking more relaxed than Yuuri has ever seen before.

“It’s beautiful here,” Victor compliments, turning to glance at Yuuri. “I’m glad you suggested it.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Yuuri smiles back. “And you’re right, it is beautiful.”

The main shrine, when they reach it, is old and wooden, with various structures serving different purposes scattered around. The shrine itself is painted white, with striking green motifs. They pay their respects first, making a donation with small change found in their pockets.

“They do look somewhat like a married couple,” Yuuri notes, observing the entwined pair of cypress trees curiously. Victor tilts his head, first to the left, then to the right, before sighing despairingly.

“I don’t see it,” he complains. “You must have better imagination than me, Yuuri.”

“Or maybe you’re the one who needs glasses, after all,” Yuuri says with some amusement. “The camphor tree should be this way, I think.”

They take the path to the back of the shrine, to the famed tree. The sight of it reminds Yuuri strangely of the Shashinboku on Mount Hou, despite the obvious differences – for one, this tree has leaves and isn’t the same almost-metal white hue as the famed tree of the kirin. It also sports cracks and a large, open space at the very root, most likely carved there by both time and nature. But this tree has the same, wide reaching branches, and, most importantly, the feel of something sacred, a sort of presence, to it.

“Wow,” Victor says, following the tree upwards with his eyes. “It’s huge!”

“It really is,” Yuuri agrees. Much bigger than the Shashinboku, for sure, at least in height. “The tree is considered a god, you know,” he continues absently, eyes still glued to the hanging branches above them. “People worship it as a protector of the area. They even gave it a name – Takeo no Ohkusu, or simply Ohkusu.”

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, startling Yuuri out of his staring match with the tree. “Do you think we can go in the roots?”

“There’s no sign saying we can’t, so I think so,” Yuuri offers hesitantly. Victor immediately moves forward, ever curious, crouching down slightly to enter the hollow space within the roots of the tree. Yuuri follows more slowly, aware of the presence, still there and observing.

Yuuri has visited shrines before, naturally, but he’s never approached any of the objects people worship as gods or deities. He knows that gods do, in fact, exist, at least over on the other side, but he’d never considered what that meant for Over Here, in Japan. Hadn’t actually thought about gods in terms of this side.

He shouldn’t be surprised to feel a presence and a sense of authority in the old tree – he knows belief, in itself, is a form of power. Even so, he finds himself surprised by the actual, tangible presence, a sort of awareness the tree seems to possess. He’d never paid attention to it on Mount Hou, but the Shashinboku had a sort of presence as well – not one so aware, so individual, but still a power of some kind.

Yuuri keeps part of his focus on Victor, still exclaiming over the hollow space and the almost shrine-like feel of it, but focuses most of his attention on the tree, laying one hand on the soft bark smoothed by the years, pulsing with a strange sort of warmth under his palm. What he gets from the tree – Ohkusu, he supposes – isn’t really something as concrete as words, more like images and half formed ideas of sounds and pictures, sometimes even scents.

The tree is _old_ , as old as some of the beings considered gods on the other side. Despite its age, it retains a childlike curiosity, a certain kind of purity that is impossibly rare in humans, even children, let alone anyone who would have lived as long as the tree has. Just as Yuuri attempts to chase down an evasive image, attached to the sound of laughter and joyful screams, something the tree remembers with a feeling of fondness, a hand lands on his shoulder, making him jump and his eyes pop open from surprise. He hadn’t realized he had closed them.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, bent slightly to peer into his eyes from right next to him. “Are you alright? I called your name quite a few times.”

“Uh-” Yuuri blinks rapidly, trying to reorient himself. “Yes, of course – sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“Are you sure?” Victor persists, frowning and lifting a hand to feel the Japanese skater’s forehead, giving him time to move away from the gesture as usual. Somehow, over time, Yuuri has stopped hating the feel of it as much as he used to, at least when it’s Victor.

“Is it heatstroke?” Victor frets slightly, still looking worried. “You don’t feel too warm. Do you feel sick?”

“No, no,” Yuuri assures, shaking his head and pasting on the best smile he can muster. “I really am fine. I was just thinking, I swear.”

“If you’re sure,” Victor agrees, uncharacteristically hesitant. “You’d tell me if you felt sick, right?”

“I would,” Yuuri says, his smile turning more fond and honest. “Do you want to go back to the main shrine? We could buy omikuji.”

“Ooh, omikuji!” Victor cheers up, beaming excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to have my fortune told!”

“Um,” Yuuri blinks. “It’s not quite fortune telling? But I suppose it’s close. Maybe?”

Victor ignores Yuuri’s words, dragging him with him, away from the old camphor tree. Yuuri glances back towards it as they leave, wondering if some day in the future, someone will visit the tree and glimpse their visit to the place, hear the voices of a Japanese skater and his coach from the past. It’s an oddly nice thought.

Naturally, Victor gets the best fortune possible – Daikichi – while Yuuri’s is the most common one, Shokichi, or small blessings. They tie their fortune slips on the branches of a tree before going.

 

 On their last day in Takeo, they decide to stay and relax before catching the train back to Hasetsu, rather than going out and sight-seeing. They soak in the private onsen for a while, just enjoying the water and the sounds of the wind brushing the leaves.

“Yuuri,” Victor says abruptly, turning to look at him from the opposite side of the small spring. “Are you glad we came?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion. “I’ve had fun. I always have fun with you, Victor.”

Victor beams at him, mouth stretching into the same heart-shaped smile that never fails to pull an answering grin from Yuuri.

“I’m glad,” Victor sighs, leaning backwards to relax once more.

Yuuri wonders about the question, but decides not to ponder on it. They’ll have to get out and dressed soon, if they wish to have their dinner with the rest of the inn residents in the communal dining room. As if reading his mind, Victor stands up suddenly, stretching his arms and his back with a groan, prompting Yuuri to avert his gaze with a blush. This is one aspect of having Victor around that he doubts he’ll ever get used to.

“Are you ready to go down for dinner?” Victor asks brightly, drawing Yuuri’s eyes back to him. The kirin struggles to keep his gaze firmly above the waist line, ignoring the drops of water trailing downwards, refusing to follow them with his eyes.

“Yes,” he manages to say without stuttering, and considers it a small victory. “We shouldn’t be late.”

“Great!” Victor smiles, stretching a little more before heading back inside the room, most likely to get dressed. Yuuri stays a moment longer, considering the benefits of drowning himself in the hot spring, versus the trouble it would cause for the poor proprietors who have done nothing to deserve the scandal. In the end, he decides to have mercy on the happy couple who have been nothing but kind to them for the whole visit, and follows Victor inside to get dressed as well.

When they make it down to dinner, the dining room is relatively full, people of all ages sitting around, filling the room with the low hum of several ongoing conversations. Both skaters opt to take a seat near some of the others, rather than seclude themselves away – that would defeat the point of coming down to have a shared dinner, after all.

The man sitting next to Yuuri eyes him curiously as he sits down, before doing a doubletake and turning to look at him properly. He manages to look respectable and somehow almost official despite the standard onsen robes, the lines of his face unusually sharp, no signs of a scruff, his hair and even the eyebrows completely immaculate. Probably a businessman of some kind, most likely in or nearing his thirties, enjoying a holiday – not on a business trip.

“Hello,” the man says, “do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

“Um,” Yuuri hesitates, “I’m a figure skater, so you might have seen me on the television if you watch sports?”

“Oh! You’re Katsuki Yuuri!” the man says, his eyes widening with surprise and a blush blooming on his cheeks. It makes him look younger, and Yuuri downgrades his earlier assessment of the man’s age to somewhere in his twenties. “You’re Japan’s ace, of course I’ve seen you! No wonder you look so familiar!”

The man is all but gushing, his eyes full of stars. Yuuri flushes as well, feeling slightly awkward and more than a little confused. He knows Japan doesn’t have that many great figure skaters, right now, so he’s one of the best by lack of competition, but he didn’t think he was _that_ famous.

“Can I have your signature? My sister loves figure skating, she’d never forgive me if I didn’t ask,” the man says, patting down his robe for something to write with. One of the servers notices his struggle and hurries by with a notepad and a pen, handing them over with a smile.

“Sure,” Yuuri says, smiling a little. “Who should I write it to?”

“Can you address it to Ayame?” the man asks, then blushes and scratches the back of his head with embarrassment, before continuing tentatively. “And if you don’t mind, a separate one for Kazuo.”

Yuuri writes both short notes without a comment, signing them with his name, before handing over the notepad.

“I guess Kazuo is you?” he asks, trying to be more active than usual. He’s already come to the conclusion that he regrets how closed off he was in Detroit, so perhaps it’s time to attempt to change that. To change himself.

“Yes!” the man says happily, accepting the notepad almost reverently, ripping out the page and folding it gently before sliding it into his sleeve. “It’s nice to meet you, Katsuki-san.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinks, “you can call me Yuuri – I spent most of the past five years in Detroit, so I’m used to it.”

“Really?” Kazuo says, like Yuuri just made his day. “You don’t mind? Then please call me Kazuo, as well. It’s an honour to meet you!”

“Yuuri,” a voice interrupts their conversation, drawing the attention of both men to Yuuri’s right, where Victor is sitting and watching them with a slight frown that slides away as Yuuri focuses on him.

“Don’t forget to eat,” Victor scolds slightly, gesturing down to the trays. Apparently the food had been brought out without him noticing, too invested in the conversation.

“Oh!” Yuuri says, surprised. “Sorry.”

Kazuo coughs, and Yuuri turns towards the other man once more.

“Sorry for distracting you,” the other man says abashedly. “I know athletes need to eat well.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Yuuri agrees and smiles. “But one missed dinner wouldn’t kill me.”

“Are you staying here for long?” Kazuo asks in a hopeful tone. “I’ve been around here before, if you need a guide.”

“Actually,” Yuuri says, taking a bite of his food, “we’re heading back to Hasetsu today. It would have been nice to take in the sights with you, though.”

“Oh,” Kazuo remarks, disappointed, turning to regard his own dinner with an expression that seems almost desolate, somehow. Yuuri didn’t think the news of their approaching departure was quite that dire, but he’s never been the best judge of social customs. Perhaps he said something wrong.

“I’m sorry?” he offers, reaching out slightly to touch the other man’s arm with the tips of his fingers.

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” Kazuo assures, snapping his gaze back upwards immediately. “It would have been nice, but I understand you’re busy. Perhaps I’ll try to visit Hasetsu the next time I have a weekend free?”

Never one to pass an opportunity to draw business to their inn, Yuuri smiles happily in return. “You should, my family runs a hot springs as well – it’s called Yu-topia. It’s a nice place for a holiday.”

“It sounds lovely,” Kazuo smiles back, his body angled towards Yuuri’s attentively. “I’ll make sure to visit – maybe you can show me around, instead!”

Yuuri smiles and murmurs an agreement, shifting his focus back to his food.

For some reason, Victor sulks the whole train ride back to Hasetsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter (sorry!). I'm recently out of a job (as is everyone I worked with), so that might or might not have an effect on my writing schedule. We'll see.
> 
> I changed all mentions of Makkachin from male pronouns to female pronouns, so if I missed any let me know. I still have no idea which gender Makkachin actually is, but I decided referring to the poodle as a she felt more natural to me. 
> 
> Moving on to actual notes.
> 
> Takeo: Takeo is a city in Saga prefecture, bordering Karatsu just by the tip of it - and Hasetsu is based on the real life Karatsu. I figured it was a location close enough, with enough data available to serve as a vacation spot. The shrine and the onsen actually exist, but to get to the shrine you'd have to take a bus or a taxi - I'm not sure if a train actually passes closeby, at all. I just prefer writing trains, personally. Ohkusu is also a real tree, but these days it seems to have a restricted access, so you can't get too close to it, and entering the hollow (which, btw, is huge) might be impossible. 
> 
> Koushu: Now, this is a complicated issue. The koushu villages are mentioned but never described in more detail in the novels. The refugee issue is also a real thing from the novels, as is the barely-legal-slavery form that it takes. Those who die with their passport on them will eventually be sent back to the Yellow Sea, where they'll get a koushu burial, so they won't end up in a potter's field, unlike the live-in servants who give up their passport to their 'masters'. Shushi and goushi will likely be covered a bit more, still, so I won't include a long explanation here. Both are under the brackets of koushu, though.
> 
> Passports: The passport you have is your only means of identification in Twelve Kingdoms. If you possess a passport, you can always appeal to a related office for assistance. If you own land and a house, for example, and were declared legally dead over an absence exceeding seven years, as long as you have a passport you could appeal to have your holdings returned to you. Without a passport, what you had is forfeited. Each citizen is issued a passport for the region they live in, but there are cases where people lose all they own and end up travelers, gaining a red marked passport that is issued to travelers, entertainers, itinerants, peddlers, etc. 
> 
> Refugees often opt to pledge their service to a wealthy household. The lord of the house will take their passport in return for giving them food to survive and a space to live in. In essence, they will serve the house until they die, along with any children they may have. They have little to no freedom, since anything they do will be dictated by the family who they serve, and they won't receive the benefits that citizens normally get, such as your own plot of field or a rike to retire to. There are kingdoms where things are better, as there are households that won't treat their servants the way described here. Sometimes a servant may gain freedom if the master of the household dies without distributing his belongings or with no heirs, and their ownings are forfeited to the kingdom, though this rarely happens. 
> 
> Kenrou Shinkun: Regarded as one of the gods of Twelve Kingdoms, he's seen as the guardian patron of the Yellow Sea, which he wanders on a youma, tenken. He was raised by demon beasts from early childhood, and met Rokuta (aka Enki) early on, who gifted him with the name Kouya. After assisting in a failed rebellion against the king of En, Shoryu, he left, eventually coming to be known as Kenrou Shinkun, tasked with protecting those traveling (and living, it seems) in Koukai. It's not told how he gained the rank of a sage, but it would seem he was one of the few who gain it through their actions, rather than by being marked on the divine registry.
> 
> A quick reminder about some words that popped up:
> 
> Shozan is the pilgrimage to Mt Hou to present yourself to the kirin.
> 
> Riboku is the village tree, yaboku is the variant found in the wild. Shashinboku is the tree of the kirin on Mt Hou.
> 
> Youma is another word for demon beasts. Youjuu are the wild mounts, still untamed, while kijuu are the tamed version.
> 
> For the new names introduced, the kogou with the name Kousen uses the kanji 荒山, which refer to "natural, crude, wild" and "mountain, hill." Sekishi, the young boy Yuuri meets in the Yellow Sea, has a name formed from the kanji 拓矢, for "expand, open" and "arrow." Lastly, Mugen's name comes from the kanji 武彦, which stand for "military, martial" and "boy, prince," though he's hardly a prince. 
> 
> There's many OCs, but rest assured they play minor parts (poor plot points, as I call them). Hopefully the chapter wasn't too long or boring; these chapters until the qualifiers are mostly fillers, with one for each month - July is up next.
> 
> As always, thank you for all the comments and kudos! I treasure them all!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are so many paths to the future; sometimes you have to follow separate ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the increased rating to M.

On an early morning in late July, Yuuri wakes up to the rapidly fading vestiges of a particularly vivid dream. Just the lingering recollections of it are enough to make him blush, and wish the memories would take _other_ things he’s just becoming aware of with them as they go. It’s not that he’s unfamiliar with the concept of wet dreams – it’d be hard to live in modern society and not learn of these things – but it’s not something he’s ever had to worry about himself, personally. It’s something entirely new, which is more than a little embarrassing considering that he’s well past twenty and for the first time experiencing things most people outgrow in their teenage years.

For a few seconds, the kirin entertains the idea of just holing up in his room for the whole day. If he didn’t have practice, the idea would hold merit, but with Victor waiting at the rink it’s unlikely he would be allowed to stay in, anyway. Victor. The name of his coach, even unvoiced, drags back fragments of the feeling of a mouth on his throat, whispered encouragements intercepted with harsh Russian-sounding curse words, hot, gasping breath against his mouth and piercing, pale eyes, half-lidded with pleasure.

Yuuri groans aloud as he covers his face with his hands, wondering if it’d be possible to go and hide wherever it is his shirei go when they’re not required. Speaking of, he’s never been more thankful about the five years he spent subconsciously blocking his shirei – the practice comes in handy, now, when he wants some distance between himself and his trusty, ever-present peanut gallery of sidekicks.

Some people have no idea how lucky they are to have their head all to themselves.

He might have to apologize to them later for calling them sidekicks, though.

“Yuuri!”

His door is suddenly slammed open with more force than necessary, startling Yuuri so badly he throws the first thing he can reach at the intruder without even pausing to think about it.

“Um,” he blinks at the open doorway in confusion, watching as his cell phone drops uselessly on the ground, leaving behind a dazed Russian man with a blooming red mark on his forehead, sharply contrasting with the silver of his hair.

“Victor!” Yuuri yelps in alarm, moving as if to get out of the bed before remembering the evidence currently being covered only by the flimsy barrier of his blanket.

“I probably deserved that,” Victor says, still sounding slightly dazed, reaching to rub at his forehead absentmindedly as he bends to pick up the phone from the floor.

“Why aren’t you at the rink?” Yuuri says accusingly, his voice filled with both despair at the world in general and exasperation specifically targeted at his coach.

“I thought we could walk together.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Yuuri groans, bending to bury his face in his blanket covered knees, thankful for the increased barrier between Victor and the source of his discomfort.

“Hmm,” his coach muses, probably tapping at his lips as he ‘thinks’ about that. “I’m sure Yakov mentioned it at some point! I wasn’t paying much attention, so I don’t remember it too well.”

“Naturally,” Yuuri grumbles, turning to glare at Victor from the corner of his eyes. “Fine, we can walk to the rink together, now get out so I can get dressed.”

“I still don’t see why I have to go out for that,” Victor complains, but leaves the room without a fight, closing the door behind himself and allowing Yuuri to breathe once more.

Thank the heavens he doesn’t sleep naked.

His sheets provide a problem – he can’t take them to the laundry hamper, not with Victor waiting right outside, but he doesn’t want his parents to discover them either. In the end, Yuuri opts for gathering the sheets in a neatly folded pile in his closet, to wait for a time when he can deal with them himself. He’s quick to change into his training outfit, grimacing at the cold dampness of his soiled sleepwear, cleaning as well as he can with just tissues and no shower. The dirty clothes are left on top of the folded sheets, hopefully hidden from the curious eyes of any of his family, on the odd chance that they visit his room while he’s out.

“Ready?” Victor asks cheerily when Yuuri joins him outside the room, Makkachin greeting the Japanese skater eagerly as if they hadn’t seen each other just yesterday.

“Yes,” Yuuri responds, aware that he sounds grumpy. He can’t help it – just as he can’t help but avoid looking at his coach, for the fear of the contents of his from dream last night somehow broadcasting on his face for all the world to see. Or _worse_ , recalling the dream by looking at Victor. He’s not sure he would be able to handle either option without providing the world with irrefutable proof that spontaneous human combustion is, in fact, an actual thing.

“Good,” Victor’s reply sounds slightly more subdued this time, making Yuuri feel guilty over his misplaced anger. It’s not like Victor can control what Yuuri dreams – it really is no one’s fault but his own. He’s being immature by taking it out on the Russian skater.

“Sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, gathering the strength from his guilt to glance briefly at his coach, offering a quick smile before lowering his gaze once more. “I didn’t sleep too well, so I’m probably a bit off.”

“That’s alright,” Victor says, sounding happier. “We’ll just have to fix that, then. Skating ought to cheer you up, I think, and we can have a long soak in the hot springs later!”

 

After a long, grueling practice, filled with plenty of harsh critique from Victor over the lack of expression in Yuuri’s skating, they walk back to the inn in a companionable silence.

“Your mother was telling me about some festival this weekend,” Victor says suddenly, as they’re crossing the bridge.

“Oh,” Yuuri replies, thinking back to the date and all the local festivals he knows. “She must have meant the Gion Festival.”

“Yes! That sounds like it.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri muses quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually participated. Maybe as a child, before – well, before the whole missing thing.”

Victor remains quiet for a moment, but it’s a thoughtful silence, like he’s thinking about how to best word his thoughts, not something forced or strained.

“Maybe we can both experience it together for the first time, then,” Victor finally suggests, glancing at Yuuri and smiling. In a move that feels practiced with how smoothly it happens, the Russian skater reaches for Yuuri’s right hand, encasing it in his own, continuing to walk without the slightest falter.

Yuuri wishes he could be as suave, but truthfully the action makes him flush and wish it was still cold enough to wear a scarf, just so he could hide his face in it. He doesn’t pull away from the gentle grip on his hand, though, nor does he voice any of the self-conscious protests or doubts within his mind. Instead, he curls his fingers slightly, squeezing the hand holding his lightly, just once, in return. Victor’s grip grows more certain at the action, though neither of them says anything. The rest of the walk back home is spent in silence, their previous topic forgotten.

 

“Welcome back, Yuuri, Vicchan,” Yuuri’s mother greets them happily as they stop to take off their shoes at the entrance. “You have a guest, Yuuri. I wish you told us more about your friends – you’ve never even mentioned him despite how nice and polite he seems!”

“A guest?” Yuuri mumbles under his breath, confused. It can’t be Phichit – even the Thai skater wouldn’t be insane enough to randomly fly to Japan in the middle of preparations for the season.

Victor seems as curious as he is, tugging Yuuri towards the dining area, almost making him trip in the process. The sight, once he gets there, is enough to stop Yuuri in his tracks, consequently pulling Victor to a stop as well.

“Yo,” Enki says, lifting one hand in a greeting, as if it’s completely normal for the other kirin to suddenly turn up at their family onsen. As if he’s done this hundreds of times before, and Yuuri’s either suffering from amnesia or going senile in his young age. The sight of his black hair, the way it appears on the shell he wears, is as jarring as it was the first time Yuuri met him on this side.

“Rokuta?” Yuuri gapes uselessly.

Enki’s eyes drift down to their hands, which – Yuuri realizes belatedly – are still connected, the warmth of Victor’s palm against his a comforting presence. Yuuri flushes and only stops himself from pulling away from Victor because of the way his hand almost compulsively tightens around his, as if expecting him to do just that. Instead, the Japanese skater meets Enki’s gaze and forces a smile, gripping tighter in return.

To Yuuri’s relief – and slight embarrassment – Enki looks pleased, more than anything, his only reaction the slight lift of one eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri asks, only to be thwapped on the head by his passing sister, who’s somehow learned to utilize newspapers as state-of-art weaponry. Probably from Minako-sensei.

“That’s rude, Yuuri,” she says, but doesn’t stay to scold him more, too busy with the bustle of the inn.

“How cruel,” Enki affirms, amused. “And here I thought we were old friends.”

“You don’t look old enough for that,” Victor points out, catching the attention of both kirin. The Russian man is wearing his politely pleasant mask, smiling with his teeth showing; the difference from earlier is jarring. Yuuri hasn’t seen this side of his coach in a while – there’s been no need for it, and he’s not sure why it’s making a sudden reappearance now, of all times.

“Oh,” Enki disagrees with a wave of his hand, “I’m older than I look.”

Yuuri can’t help snorting, aware of the massive understatement in the words.

“Really?” Victor sounds displeased for some reason. “Why don’t we do introductions! I’d love get to know more about Yuuri’s friends.”

Victor pulls a slightly reluctant Yuuri along with him, seating them down opposite of Enki at the low dining table.

“Um,” Yuuri hesitates, glancing between the kirin and the coach, aware of the almost hostile tension in the air, though he can’t begin to guess for the reasons behind it. “Victor, this is Rokuta – he’s – well, we’re old friends like he said. Rokuta, this is Victor – he’s coaching me for the Grand Prix Finals this year.”

“Nice to meet you,” Victor offers, bowing slightly in a traditional Japanese greeting, smiling brightly all the while.

“You too,” Enki says, smiling back easily, more relaxed and almost languid, before turning his eyes back towards Yuuri. “So is this why?” The sideways glance towards Victor makes his meaning clear.

“Why what?” The Russian man asks, ever curious.

“No,” Yuuri denies, not clarifying for the benefit of his coach, even if he feels a bit bad for leaving him out of the loop.

“Well, I can see the appeal, I guess,” Enki continues as if he’d agreed. “To your earlier question, though, I came to check on you. I’ll be staying on this side of the sea for a while, doing the work I mentioned, so I might as well drop by from time to time when I’m around.”

Yuuri can almost hear the words ‘We kirin have to stick together’ tacked at the end, though thankfully Rokuta refrains from saying them out loud. Truly, he feels thankful, for all that he’s not good at showing it – Enki _is_ one of his oldest friends, despite all appearances. His presence here, especially with the little time Yuuri knows he has left, is a comfort.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yuuri says, pulling away from his thoughts to smile at the other kirin, trying to make his gratitude heard through his voice. It must get across, because the half-amused, half-nonchalant expression on Enki’s face softens just slightly. Message received.

“It’d be nice to catch up.”

“How did you two meet?” Victor speaks suddenly, sounding oddly petulant. He’s pouting, seemingly annoyed at being ignored for the sake of their conversation.

“It’s the funniest story,” Enki says. Yuuri recognizes the twinkle in his eyes and the mischievous smile, and knows he’s going to regret whatever yarn the other kirin spins as the cover for the truth.

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, it was fairly obvious.

“A teenage boy, wandering around the Yellow Sea, not part of a shouzan and obviously not from any of the koushu villages – if you were trying to hide it, you weren’t doing a very good job,” Sekishi pointed out. “Everyone knows there’s a kirin on Mount Hou right now, and that he’s a rare black kirin. You wouldn’t make for a very good official.”

“I don’t like lying,” Yuuri grumbled, but gave up with a sigh. As Shinri had suspected, Sekishi had already clued in to his identity, though he didn’t know at what point the younger boy had reached the conclusion. “Is that why you agreed to bring me here?”

“No,” Sekishi said, frowning. “There’s nothing saying the riboku would be safe from the touch of the kirin, either. There’s just something about you that makes you seem dependable, who knows why. Maybe it’s your sucky lying skills.”

“ _Kouki_ ,” Shinri’s gentle voice echoed in the air suddenly, visibly startling the pale-haired boy.

“Who’s that?” Sekishi asked, glancing around them as if looking for a source.

“That’s Shinri,” Yuuri explained quickly, hovering his hands in the air, uncertain whether to reach out. “She’s my lamia.”

“ _I believe Kousen has returned._ ”

“Oh!” Yuuri brightened up instantly, relieved.

“Kousen? Isn’t that the guy who went off to distract the demons?” Sekishi’s voice was as bland as his face. “Don’t tell me he’s another demon?”

“I won’t tell you, then,” Yuuri returned, standing up before hesitating. “Is it alright to go out? I don’t want to startle everyone if Kousen shows up inside the village.”

“It should be fine if I’m with you,” Sekishi said, standing up as well, wobbling on his bad foot with a disgruntled frown.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Sekishi declined, his shoulders hunching defensively. “I have to learn to walk on it at some point, don’t I?”

“But not while it’s still injured,” Yuuri argued. “You could make it worse!”

“Let’s just go,” Sekishi grunted, lifting his chin stubbornly and daring the kirin to disagree again.

“Fine, but don’t complain to me if I have to carry you back,” Yuuri finally acquiesced.

 

They met Kousen on the outskirts of the village, hidden from view by one of the excavated village walls. The kogou was injured, but alive – he appeared grim despite this achievement, and wasted no time even acknowledging Sekishi’s presence, immediately settling down on his haunches and facing Yuuri, instead.

“ _It’s worse than we thought_ ,” Kousen said without pleasantries. “ _It’s not just any demon that’s made a home here – it’s a toutetsu: a shape shifter._ ”

Sekishi inhaled at the words, actually staggering a bit, leaning against the uneven stone wall for support. His face drained of all blood, making him look pale and ill, as if he might be suddenly sick on the spot.

“A toutetsu?” he gasped, bending slightly over his own stomach, both hands planted against the wall. “Are you sure?”

Kousen eyed the other boy dismissively. “ _What do you take me for, a pet dog?_ ” the shirei turned back towards Yuuri, his expression grim once more. “ _This isn’t an opponent we can handle. We should withdraw back to Mount Hou._ ”

Shinri appeared out of the shadow at their feet, startling Sekishi once more, causing the boy to grumble in annoyance. “Are they going to keep popping up like that?”

“Kousen is right, Kouki,” Shinri said, her face worried and intent. “A toutetsu is not something we can deal with. We should return.”

Yuuri eyed his worried shirei and lamia, then shifted his eyes towards Sekishi.

“What will happen to the koushu village if we go?” he asked, making Sekishi straighten up indignantly.

“You can’t leave! The village hasn’t agreed on letting you go, yet!”

Shinri glanced at the boy, but didn’t otherwise react to his words. She hesitated.

“Kouki,” she said slowly. “I know you feel sympathy towards the village, but you must consider your kingdom. Without you, they are lost.”

That was an answer in itself, Yuuri supposed. It was almost like that time at Mount Hou, when he gained his very first shirei. And his answer was still the same.

“No,” he said, decisively. “We’re not leaving. The toutetsu is going to come back, isn’t it? The village isn’t safe. We have to warn them.”

“Yuuri,” Sekishi started, then stopped. He stared at the kirin and his shirei for a long while, silent, until Yuuri shifted uneasily under the heavy gaze. “You don’t have to stay. Even if you warn the village, nothing will change – no one will leave. We won’t abandon the riboku.”

“But this isn’t something you can fight!” Yuuri argued, furious. “Will you stay and just throw away your own lives along with the tree’s? That’s insane!”

“It’s how we live,” Sekishi stated, firm, non-yielding. Yuuri fell quiet and stared at the other boy, incredulous.

“It’s insane,” he whispered once more.

He couldn’t comprehend the words; the choice should have been obvious. Either they stayed, and the whole village fell, likely along with the tree – or they left, and they would live, perhaps to return one day.

Frowning, he turned around, Kousen and Shinri both melting into shadows and disappearing at the same moment. Ignoring the sounds of the slower, uneven trek of Sekishi behind him, Yuuri hurried back into the village proper, busily scanning the buildings for signs of Mugen – he had no idea of his position in the place, but it would have to do.

He was in luck – the scruffy man was at the well, talking to someone Yuuri didn’t recognize, which didn’t mean much considering he had only seen the faces of perhaps ten percent of the village population.

“Mugen!” he shouted, breaking into a hurried jog towards the two conversing adults, both of whom turned towards him at the loud burst of his voice.

“Can I talk to you?” Yuuri panted out, trying to catch his breath as he pulled into a stop near the well, not even sparing a glance towards the second person. Luckily, the man seemed to take no offense, nodding at them both with a quick word to Mugen in parting, before walking off unhurriedly.

“What?” Mugen asked gruffly, his voice lacking any real annoyance or anger.

“There’s – I know you have no reason to believe me, but – there’s a demon, I mean, a shape shifter, and you’re right in its territory. I think. I’m not sure exactly how big its territory is, but the village isn’t far from the place I found Sekishi, so..”

Mugen’s expression, contrary to Sekishi’s earlier reaction, didn’t change at the announcement. He simply clapped Yuuri firmly on the arm to make him stop talking, almost sending him to the ground in the process, but succeeding in stalling the flood of words.

“A shape shifter?” the man grumbled. “Are you sure? It couldn’t have been some other demon?”

“No,” Yuuri denied, knowing that Kousen wouldn’t have said so without being sure, himself. “It was definitely a toutetsu. You have to get out! Draw back to one of the other villages!”

Mugen was quiet for a while, staring thoughtfully into the still waters of the well, before sighing. His face remained as still as ever, but his eyes bore emotions more complicated than Yuuri could begin to unravel.

“Look, boy,” he spoke. “It may not mean anything to you, but to us this village is all we have. I’ll spread the word, let everyone know, but I doubt anyone’ll leave. This is our home, such as it is. We’ll stick with it to the last.”

“But you have to leave!” Yuuri cried out, frustrated. Why was no one listening? Was their pride really more important to them than their very lives? Were they truly ready to doom the whole village to death, just for the sake of some buildings and a plot of land?

“If you want to sneak out, I won’t stop you,” Mugen said, ignoring his words. “Might even help you. I won’t doom an outsider with us.”

“Mugen,” Yuuri tried once more, keeping his voice level and calm despite the turmoil inside him. “You have to leave. The toutetsu won’t leave anyone alive – it’s not hunting for food, it’s killing just to kill. It was obvious from the scene earlier. You might be able to come back one day, but if you’re dead there’s no return – there won’t _be_ anyone to return. Please, you have to leave.”

“Sorry, kid,” Mugen replied grimly. “We’re staying.”

 

“How can you all be so bullheaded?” Yuuri complained, later that day, as he and Sekishi were settling down to sleep for the night. He hadn’t managed to convince Mugen or Sekishi about the ludicrousness of their actions, so he’d had to give up for the day. He’d simply have to try again tomorrow.

“What can I say,” Sekishi yawned, stretching on his pallet. “Must be the diet.”

“The diet of what, mud and plants,” Yuuri said petulantly. He wasn’t happy with the boy at all, currently.

“Well, sometimes that too,” Sekishi agreed guilelessly. “Mostly we make do with meat and rice, though.”

A silence filled the air, the only sound the quiet breathing of the two, and the distant sounds of the surrounding nature.

“Why were you there?” Yuuri asked.

“You mean where you found me?” Sekishi said, turning to his side. Yuuri could barely see the glint of his eyes in the dark. His hair was almost white in the little moonlight shifting in through the cracks of the window hatch, reflecting blue like a peculiar star.

“I want to be a shushi,” Sekishi confided quietly. “Not that I’m likely to ever become one, now.”

“What do you – oh,” Yuuri said in realization. His foot would be a rather large disadvantage, one no beast would hesitate to take advantage of when cornered; not even the gentlest of youjuu.

“Yeah,” Sekishi sighed, but didn’t complain. “They always said I’m too young to join them, when they went out. But I wanted to catch and tame youjuu. I want to see what life is like outside of the Yellow Sea.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise.

“Yeah, ironic, isn’t it?” Sekishi snorted, as if sensing his shock. “Despite all that talk about the village and all. But I want to travel. The shushi go beyond the gate to sell their kijuu. I want to do that, too.”

“But you don’t have to be a shushi to go beyond the Yellow Sea,” Yuuri pointed out hesitantly.

“I suppose,” Sekishi replied softly. “But I wanted to be one. That’s why I was there.”

“So you – what, snuck out on your own?” Yuuri asked, disbelieving.

“Yup.” Sekishi said. “Didn’t work out so well for me, but I had to try.”

“You’re an idiot,” Yuuri blurted out without thinking. There was a startled pause, then Sekishi burst into a wheezing laughter, joined by Yuuri after a moment of surprise.

“I guess that makes us a pair of idiots, then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Enki doesn’t stay long, leaving soon after their conversation and the wildly embellished story of their first meeting. He promises to return, though, which is more than Yuuri expected, really. Victor, while accepting the promise with good grace, seems oddly unhappy about it regardless, for reasons Yuuri can’t even begin to decipher.

The weekend brings the Gion festival with it, filling the streets with tourists and the large floats that the shopping district has spent the past few weeks constructing. The sound of all the traditional flutes and their simple melodies is almost deafening, but Victor seems to take an overt delight in the bustle of the normally quiet town.

To Yuuri’s infinite embarrassment, Toshiya Katsuki is apparently a regular participant for the festival, and this time proves no different – which means that Yuuri gets to despair at the sight of his father wearing just a happi coat and a fundoshi, something he could have happily lived without ever having seen.

Victor, for his part, gets excited at the sight, which Yuuri probably should have expected.

“Yuuri! Where can I get one?” is his immediate question, which, well. It’s probably best if he doesn’t try to think of his coach wearing just a strip of cloth covering very little beyond the most important bits, and a very revealing overcoat.

“Um,” Yuuri blinks rapidly. “You can’t. Only the official staff wear the traditional costume.”

Victor pouts disappointedly. “Does that mean you won’t wear one either?”

Yuuri gapes. “Yes,” he gasps after an incredulous pause. “It does.”

“Such a shame!” Victor sighs. “I would’ve loved to see you in – what did you say it was, a fun-doh-she?”

“Victor!” Yuuri yelps, looking around furtively, but no one in the slowly gathering crowd is paying them any attention. “No, just – no. If you really want to wear something more… traditional, we can get you a yukata from one of the stores, though it’ll be short notice so they might not have anything in your size.”

“Hmm,” Victor ponders the suggestion for a moment. “Perhaps we could get some for the next time there’s a festival, then. What festivals do you celebrate, Yuuri?”

Yuuri considers the question. “Well, the next one would probably be tanabata next month, or maybe the obon. There’ll be stalls and the onsen will have tanzaku and special trees for the guests to tie their wishes on. We should be able to get you some clothes by then, for sure.”

“Great!” Victor says cheerily. “It’s decided then! We’ll have a date.”

“A date?”

Yuuri is glad he can’t see his own face right now, because there’s no way whatever expression he’s making is flattering in the slightest.

“Yuuri!” the voice of his father interrupts his panicked thoughts, just as Victor opens his mouth to reply to the parroted question. Yuuri doesn’t know whether to be thankful for the timely interruption or embarrassed for the spectacle his father is making.

“Dad,” Yuuri greets his father quietly, as the man wanders over to them, his cheeks flushed with both merriment and the alcohol he must have been sneaking in secret with some of the other, noticeably merrier workers. The more sober members of the staff are eyeing them with either amusement or good-natured envy, likely wishing they’d thought to smuggle in some sake themselves. The small group of three turn to regard the float together.

“I’m so glad you’re taking part this year!” Toshiya says happily, patting him on the back with enough force that only Victor’s quick actions save him from being sent sprawling on the ground.

“Me too, dad,” Yuuri gasps out, gripping Victor’s arm with more force than is probably necessary, thankful for the support. That actually kind of hurt, though he’s not going to tell his father that.

“It’s a shame your mother couldn’t come, but I suppose someone has to stay behind to keep up the fort!” Toshiya says, beaming at them both. Victor smiles back with slight confusion and amusement, probably not understanding much of the elder Katsuki’s words – even without the language barrier, the Kyushu dialect can be particularly challenging to most ears, and Victor has to deal with both.

“Well, you two have fun and enjoy yourselves,” Toshiya says, waving cheerily at Victor and receiving a happy wave in return. “We’re going to start pulling the float soon, so I have to go and help with that. Try not to stay out too late or your mother will worry!”

With that, the older Katsuki is gone, mixing in with the rest of the fundoshi-clad workers who’ve started to line up around the massive float in preparation for getting it moving. It seems rather improbable that the mass of wood could be moved with just the men they have, especially with the flute players sitting on it, but Yuuri knows the thing is designed with that in mind – the wheels probably help, even if the trip might get a bit difficult at times.

“Do you want to follow the float or go back to the onsen?” Yuuri asks Victor, who’s curiously observing the float and the workers. “It’ll likely take a long while before they reach the actual location of the celebration. We could come back at night, once they light up the float and the stalls open.”

“Mm,” Victor agrees absently, still busily watching the people coaxing the heavy float into movement, straining against the bigger mass of it but succeeding inch by inch. Once they manage to get into a steady rhythm, the structure will be easier to keep moving, though they’ll still have to pull quite hard – which necessitates the people currently following instead of pulling or pushing, ready to swap in once someone gets tired.

“I suppose Makkachin could use a walk,” Victor finally agrees, tearing his eyes away from the slowly wobbling carriage of men and flashy painted wood, turning to smile at Yuuri instead. “It’s a shame we can’t bring her with us, but I don’t think we could keep track of her in this crowd!”

“True,” Yuuri smiles back. “Mother will be happy to see us, anyway, though Mari will probably complain about us slacking off while she has to slave away at work.”

“Does she want to take over the inn?” Victor asks, as they turn to walk back. Yuuri furrows his brow as he turns over the question in his mind. To be honest, they’ve never talked about it – Mari, while a good sister and supportive of him to the last, grew up in a different direction while he was away on the other side. They were close as children, but distance and time wore down on that closeness, leaving behind whatever remains now – a sibling relationship of half-known facts and quirks of personalities. Mari isn’t the way she was as a child, but neither is Yuuri. They’ve not had enough time to patch up those differences, to figure out each other as they are now.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, as the silence stretches out between them.

“Oh,” Yuuri blinks out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I was – thinking. I think so, yeah. Mari wouldn’t stay if she didn’t want to.”

That, he believes to be certain. For all that Mari is considerate and supportive, she’s also stubborn and determined. If she wanted to be somewhere else, she would; even if it seemed selfish, she knows their parents only want them to be happy, even if that meant leaving the onsen with no successors. He suspects that she would step aside, were Yuuri to express an interest in taking over the inn instead, but nothing short of a spoken plea from family will move her from her set course.

“She’s quite strong,” Victor observes, his mouth quirking up at one end. “Did you know she gave me ‘the talk’ a few days ago?”

“The talk?” Yuuri blinks at his coach in confusion. There are a few ‘talks’ that he can think of, but he can’t see his sister explaining the birds and the bees to the Russian skater – he’s older than her, for one, and it’d be beyond weird for another. Other forms of ‘the talk’ seem just as unlikely to occur, though.

“You know,” Victor explains, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, the edges of them crinkling in amusement. “The shovel talk.”

“She WHAT?”

It looks like he’ll be inheriting the onsen after all, because Mari won’t be alive to do so. That is, if his parents will still allow him to inherit after committing sororicide.

“Heavens, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri groans, burying his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. His family is the most embarrassing one on Earth, he’s sure. He’s fairly sure no one he knows has a father that parades around in what is literally a loin cloth, a sister that gives their brother’s coach the shovel talk out of the blue for unknown reasons, or a mother that – no, actually, his mother is perfect. But the rest of it still stands.

“Oh, I didn’t mind,” Victor disagrees, beaming at his suffering form. “I’ve never gotten the talk before, it was quite refreshing! I hadn’t even heard of some of those terms, so it was a good learning experience, too.”

“Gods,” Yuuri moans. “I’ll talk with her. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yuuri,” Victor interrupts, sounding more serious all of the sudden, and they both pause on the sidewalk as the Russian man gently pries his hands from his face, searching his face intently for a long, quiet moment.

“I really didn’t mind,” Victor says, letting go of one of his hands to brush at his cheek, ghosting over the skin below his right eye, causing them both to flutter shut on reflex. “She cares about you. You have a wonderful family who loves you, wonderful friends that love you. It makes me happy.”

“Happy?” Yuuri questions, blinking his eyes open once more. Victor doesn’t lower his palm, leaving it resting on his cheek, the other still gently gripping at his left hand. “Why would it make you happy?” Yuuri asks with mild confusion.

“Because I’m happy that there are so many people who see your worth, who love you the way I wish you’d love yourself. The way I love you.” Victor meets his gaze evenly, not hesitating over his words in the slightest.

Yuuri blinks. Then blinks some more. His mind is blank, white noise, a broken radio or TV or some other medium of broadcasting gone white, conveying nothing but static.

“Um,” he says, still blinking and trying to gather his wits. “You…”

“Yes,” Victor affirms, smiling at him, infinitely patient and gentle. “Me.”

“You,” Yuuri repeats again, hesitating over the words. “You – love me?”

“I do,” Victor agrees, easily.

Yuuri furrows his brow, staring into the blue-green eyes that meet his without flinching. The way he says it, so blasé and simple…

“Do you mean,” Yuuri asks slowly, uncertainly, “in a familial way? Or as friends?”

“If that will make it easier for you to hear it, it’ll be enough for now,” Victor assents. “But I meant more than that.”

“Um.”

“You don’t have to give me a reply right now, Yuuri,” Victor says, finally moving his hand from Yuuri’s cheek to tap against his nose once, causing the kirin to go cross-eyed trying to follow the gesture. “Take your time, think about it. We can talk about it when you know what you want to say.”

“But–” Yuuri stutters, his brain a screeching mess and his shirei blessedly quiet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Victor says firmly, framing his face with both of his hands as if willing him to take in the words. “Just think about it, in the back of your mind. Don’t focus on it too much and try not to worry over it – whatever you decide, I will listen to you. Nothing has to change. I just wanted to tell you. You’re so loved, Yuuri – more than you will ever know.”

“I–” Yuuri stops. It’s too much, too much to process, too much and too sudden. How long has Victor felt this way? He can’t even begin to comprehend his own feelings, not while he’s still processing those of his coach. Of course he knows he’s loved, knows it in the abstract sort of way that children know their parents love them, an unconditional sort of support and foundation that’s always there, waiting for you – but for them, and his friends, and Victor to actually _love_ him, to acknowledge it within themselves and embrace it... He hasn’t thought of that. Hasn’t even considered it, never consciously.

“I need to think,” Yuuri whispers after a while, imploring Victor to understand with his eyes. To his relief, the older skater smiles as if he was expecting just that.

“Like I said,” Victor reiterates his earlier words. “Take your time, think about it. I’ll be waiting.”

Yuuri nods, turning to resume the walk, feeling as if the previous minutes have brought them across time and space into another dimension, thousands of years in the future. There’s no way all of the emotions and words just expressed fit into what little time that has passed – the sun hasn’t even moved an inch in the sky. His thoughts churn like the sea in the grips of a storm, careless of what wreckage they might wreak, and he casts his eyes downwards in contemplation as he walks, Victor a silent presence beside him. Not once does his coach speak up, but neither does he try to keep his distance or intrude on his thoughts. He simply waits, as he had said he would.

Whatever the outcome, Yuuri knows he’s thankful – knows he’ll never be able to express how much Victor has come to mean to him, how much he appreciates the support and caring the other skater shows him daily. Now he simply has to figure out whether his feelings go deeper, if love has burrowed its roots within him, grown and twisted into his very being without his notice.

At least it’s the weekend – he doesn’t want to even think about trying to skate with his thoughts in such disarray.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Yuuri never got a chance to try to convince the villagers to migrate – the toutetsu attacked the same night, before the first tendrils of the sun had even started to climb above the horizon.

By the time the attack was noticed, it was already too late. The toutetsu had apparently chosen to continue playing games, picking off people silently from the shadows, leaving behind empty huts and guards that never showed up for a shift change. The early morning hush upon the small village was broken by a scream when one of the victims was finally discovered, by one of the children who had gone to get a drink from the well, only to pull up a bucketful of red liquid instead of water.

When people ran out to investigate, the little girl who had screamed was already gone, leaving behind nothing but a dropped wooden bucket and the sluggishly spreading puddle of blood slowly staining the wood and the ground red. The remaining guards wasted no time sounding the bells, alerting everyone to the fact that something was amiss.

“It’s toying with us,” one of the village men said darkly, as everyone gathered near the well, most watching with badly concealed horror as the bodies were pulled up from the well, one by one. A woman burst into a wail as the body of a child was lifted up, the empty shell dropping artlessly on the ground, drained of all blood and barely recognizable. The mother, Yuuri thought, trying to blink back the tears.

“ _Kouki_ ,” Shinri voiced quietly within his mind, sounding even more worried than before.

“I know,” Yuuri whispered under his breath. “But we’re not leaving.”

“You should go,” Sekishi countered Yuuri’s words from where he stood next to the kirin. “I know kirin don’t handle blood well, and you’re an outsider. It wouldn’t be fair to drag you down with us. I’m sure rest of the village will agree.”

“No,” Yuuri refuted.

“And you called _me_ stubborn,” Sekishi muttered, before sighing. “Fine then. If you’re not leaving, you can make yourself useful. Obviously not near the… bodies, but you can help us set up the defenses, deliver messages, that kind of stuff. We’re not going down without a fight, at least.”

“Won’t they mind? Having to listen to an outsider, I mean.”

“We have bigger things to worry about than that, right now,” Mugen’s gruff voice answered from behind them, the man in question walking over to them, staring grimly over their heads at the sad visage of the mourning villagers near the dead bodies still being pulled from the well. There were over ten of them already, and none appeared to have been devoured the way demon victims tended to be. “People will listen because we don’t have a choice. We’re not idiots, we’ll use what we have, even if what we have is an outsider – and a kid at that.”

“What’s the plan?” Yuuri asked, diverting his eyes from the bodies and their mourners.

“We’re still coming up with it, but the shape shifter isn’t going to wait for us to make up our minds,” Mugen said. “For now, you can go help them build fall traps. The way the demon’s been going so far, I doubt it’ll fall for it, but there’s no harm in trying.”

Sekishi followed Yuuri as they moved to do as asked, heading to the biggest of the village dwellings while keeping an uneasy eye on their surroundings. The toutetsu was undoubtedly still around, observing the panicking village.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any jewelry lying around?” Yuuri asked as they bent to help some men and women gather sticks to cover the gaping hole already dug deep into the ground near the large door to the building, filled with pointed spears firmly wedged to the earth below.

“Jewelry? No, don’t think so. The older girls might have some, but nothing grand. We’re not exactly a rich village, you know.”

“I’ve heard gems are like alcohol to demons,” Yuuri explained with a small note of disappointment in his voice. “We could’ve used it as a lure, maybe. And a distraction.”

“I doubt that’d work,” Sekishi said dubiously, as they straightened to observe the shoddily covered hole, while the people they were working with pushed more dirt over the branches with their feet.

“Wouldn’t have hurt to try, would it?” Yuuri shrugged.

“I suppose. Let’s go in with the others, we should stick together.”

 

The villagers had opted to gather in one of the biggest buildings in their settlement, in an effort to present a more difficult target to the demon. They hoped the numbers would serve as a deterrent to the beast, hopefully enough to prevent it from picking them off unaware and helpless. The livestock and mount beasts were gathered close, as well – or what was left of them.

“It’s a clever bastard all right,” Mugen grunted in explanation. “It snuck into the pen while we were busy planning, made off with over half of our animals. We’re lucky it didn’t have time to get to the kijuu, yet, though they wouldn’t have gone down quite as easily.”

The villagers sat huddled in small groups, their unease making them shift and twitch nervously and startle at the smallest of sounds. There was a feeling of expectation in the air, everyone waiting for something to happen – either for the demon to make a move or attack, or a sign that it might have decided to move on to another, easier target.

The wait came to an end about an hour later, just as Yuuri was starting to nod off into an uneasy sleep, when one of the youjuu let out a piercing squeal and disappeared as if pulled into the darkness of the slowly dawning day with a wet squelch. Immediately, the air was rent by screeches and shouts of panic.

“It was right there!”

“Is it still there?”

“Did anyone see it?”

“Which one did it take?”

“Put out the lights!”

In the chaos, Mugen remained stoic and calm, standing up slowly and drawing attention to himself, causing the panicking crowd to quiet down in waves as they noticed him.

“Don’t put out the lights,” the large man growled. “It already knows we’re here, that’d be pointless.”

“But it’s playing with us!”

“It is,” Mugen agreed with a slight nod. “So we’ll just have to show it that we’re not so easy to toy with. Grab your weapons. Either we wait as it picks us off until there’s none left, or we face it the next time it tries that. I know which option I’ll choose.”

The people whispered among themselves, while some of them stood up as well, grabbing for spears, swords, axes, even some makeshift weaponry made out of shovels or hoes. The villagers seemed to come to a shaky agreement, as everyone started gathering whatever they could use and following Mugen’s example, arming themselves and standing with trembling feet.

The youjuu observed the process, stomping their feet nervously and shifting around, eyes twitching so that their whites could be seen, clearly unnerved by the keen presence of a predator on a hunt. Mugen eyed them thoughtfully.

“Set the kijuu free. They have good instincts, they’ll know if the thing is close,” Mugen stated. “They’ll at least slow it down, if nothing else.”

A woman standing near the grouping of mount beasts, clutching a heavy looking spear tightly in her hands, nodded at the words and slashed at the ropes binding the beasts to the wall with her weapon, easily freeing the jittery animals. The youjuu took a moment to realize their newfound freedom, before quickly separating, each heading for their tamer to stand near them uneasily.

“It has to come through the windows or the doors, and it can’t take a form too large to do that,” Mugen continued speaking. “That’s when we have to strike. Be at ready.”

Everyone tensed, fixing their eyes on the various openings the demon could utilize to get to them. They didn’t have to wait long – barely a minute had passed, before someone screamed and everyone turned to look where they were pointing.

Yuuri blinked, slightly awed despite the situation. The thing must’ve been the toutetsu; its mere presence was stifling and oppressive, freezing most in their spots, leaving them unable to move. It had chosen to enter through one of the windows on the right, obviously aware that the time for stealth was past, not even trying to hide its entrance. Not that there would have been much point to doing so – how were they expected to fight something they couldn’t touch?

People were backing up slowly, moving away from the steadily growing shadow spilling into the room, gaining width and height in front of their eyes.

“How are we supposed to fight that?” one of the men screamed.

“It will have to go solid to attack us,” Mugen pointed out, his eyes narrowed and focused on the still expanding shadows. He was tightly gripping a large two-headed battle-axe, only the paleness of his fingers and the sweat beading on his forehead betraying the effect the demon’s presence was having on him.

The toutetsu had finished growing, now almost as tall as the spacious room itself, easily as wide as ten men standing in a line. The blackness shifted and roiled.

“Now!” Mugen shouted.

Almost as one, the people sprung forward with shouts and screams, thrusting their weapons out – but it was pointless. The toutetsu had assumed the agile shape of something vaguely leopard like, avoiding the strikes nimbly, lashing out with a barbed tail with enough strength to send the charging men and women flying. Pained cries replaced the shouts as the bodies smacked against the walls and other people who weren’t fast enough to avoid the human projectiles.

Yuuri stood frozen in his spot, aware of the whimpers and the screams around him as the orderly scene turned into a chaos and carnage, the toutetsu almost dismissively batting away weapons and people alike. The demon, as if sensing his stare, turned towards him, meeting his eyes with its own, sharply glowing yellow ones. Though it lacked a human face, the strangely mask like visage of its head twisted into what was almost a sneer.

“A kirin,” an echoing, deep voice spoke – the demon. It had a strange cadence to it, as if there was more than one voice speaking at once, the timing of it not quite matching up. “I haven’t had the pleasure of snacking on a kirin, yet.”

The toutetsu leaped over the twisting bodies easily, landing right in front of Yuuri, eyeing him dismissively. As if he was no match, which was probably true, because Yuuri found himself unable to move, as the beast stared at him, lifting one of its giant paws, the claws as long as his arm, sharp and unavoidable.

He was going to die, Yuuri realized. He was going to die without having actually achieved anything, and the rest of the village would soon follow.

The paw descended, and Yuuri closed his eyes.

“Move, boy!” someone shouted, while Shinri released a wordless scream within his mind – but the expected blow never came.

“How odd,” the demon spoke, sounding almost curious. Yuuri slowly cracked his eyes open, finding himself kneeling on the earthen floor, shaking and sweating. There was the unmistakable scent of blood in the air, heavy and cloying as ever. The source was easy to find – it was a youjuu, standing in front of him, slowly crumbling into a heap on the ground. Yuuri blinked rapidly, trying to understand.

It was a tenba, and something about the sight of its twisted limbs and blood-clotted fur tugged at his memory. Yuuri reached out with trembling fingers, hesitating, before placing a palm against the shivering side of the dying beast. The poor creature made a whining noise, huffing out a small breath, twitching its head weakly, just enough to be able to both see him and allow Yuuri to see its face. Yuuri gasped, his hand shaking against the wet, rusty fur.

“Kanshi?” he asked, his voice hair-thin.

It was the tenba he had met in the Yellow Sea, the youjuu that had followed him around for the day. The one he had gifted with the name of his mother.

The mount beast whined, once more, breathing in a shivery gust of air, her sides shaking from the force of it, before stilling completely. Its eyes unfocused, turning glassy right in front of him. The fur under Yuuri’s hand remained unmoving, the ribcage below not expanding or contracting for a breath of air. The tenba was dead. Kanshi was no more.

“Why?” Yuuri whispered, tears filling his eyes.

“Who knows how the youjuu think,” someone answered. Yuuri lifted his eyes, realizing the voice was that of the toutetsu. “Such a pointless sacrifice,” it growled, fur rippling as the muscles at its back shifted in a move reminiscent of a shrug.

Yuuri blinked, the tears spilling over. “It wasn’t pointless,” he ground out, feeling something akin to anger stuttering into life within himself.

“It was pointless,” the shape shifter growled in return, easily rejecting his words.

“It – was – not – pointless!” Yuuri shouted, suddenly furious at the way the demon was dismissing the youjuu’s sacrifice, which had cost her very life, while saving his own. He didn’t feel worthy of it. He would _never_ be worthy of it.

“Shourai! Jakyou!”

The two shirei sprung forward, charging the toutetsu despite the futility of it. The servitude of shirei was absolute – they would defend the kirin to their deaths, obeying orders and offering their support whatever the situation.

Blinking to keep the tears from clouding his vision, Yuuri staggered up from his kneeling position, unsteady but staying on his feet. The shirei were merely to buy time – he would try what had worked once before, even if the odds were heavily against him. The toutetsu would submit to him, or he would die trying.

Yuuri lifted his arm and spoke the words of binding.

 

* * *

 

 

When the sun descends and night falls, the float is lit up with thousands of lights, turning what was simple wood and paint into a glowing sculpture of light, sparkling like a lone firefly in the darkness – if fireflies were the size of elephants.

“Wow!” Victor shouts over the noise of the cheering crowd. “Amazing!”

“It is quite pretty,” Yuuri agrees, smiling. They’re back at the festival grounds, this time where the stalls are – the float, after a long journey around the city, has finally come to the end of its journey, though not the end of its dance. The men pulling the float heave and sweat as they make the heavy structure spin, creating a dizzying mirror-ball effect to the cheers of the crowd.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Yuuri asks, wondering what Victor would enjoy.

“Yuuri, what’s that?” Victor isn’t listening, pointing excitedly at one of the stalls that Yuuri easily recognizes.

“It’s a goldfish scoop,” he replies, not resisting as Victor pulls him to the small booth. “You can keep the fish you catch. The scoops are very fragile, though.”

“Ooh! Can we try it?” Victor claps his hands, already pushing a couple of bills towards the amused stall owner, who accepts them good naturedly while handing over a few scoops.

“I suppose,” Yuuri says pointlessly, seeing as Victor has already broken one of his scoops, pouting at the ruptured surface of it.

“This is harder than it looks!” Victor complains, furrowing his brows in concentration as he reaches for the next scoop, intently staring at the placidly swimming fish.

“I’ll go buy us some refreshments while you’re entertaining the fish,” Yuuri tells Victor, who nods his head distractedly. The kirin suspects his coach will be there for a while – it’s unlikely he’ll give up without catching at least a single fish, and considering his fast-growing pile of ruined scoops, that won’t be anytime soon. Yuuri doesn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement as he shares a look with the booth owner, who nods to him as he leaves, already preparing the next set of scoops for Victor to break.

He glances around, considering his options. There’s the shaved ice stands, and a stall selling slushies – Victor might like those, and the cold would be nice contrast to the heat of summer. It might be good to get something a bit more substantial for eating, as well. Maybe takoyaki or yakisoba.

He’s approaching the booth selling shaved ice in various flavours, when he’s sent staggering by a sudden pull on his arm. It’s a group of boys, perhaps his age or slightly younger – Yuuri has never been good at judging people’s ages. The one pulling at his arm tilts his head in a quick gesture towards the nearby treeline, obviously telling him to follow without words. Slightly confused, Yuuri does as requested.

The guy holding his arm doesn’t let go as they leave behind the bustle of the festival, the sounds still filtering to them easily, the darkness of the trees a jarring contrast to the brightness of the stalls and the float. The three kids – and Yuuri can’t help but think of them as such – look uneasy but defiant as they follow the two of them, muttering quietly between themselves.

They come to a stop, and the obvious ‘leader’ of the boys turns to face him with an inscrutable expression, eyeing him up and down before frowning.

“You’re that Miracle Kid, right?” he asks, almost accusing.

Yuuri is no less confused than before, but nods hesitantly. He never uses the title to refer to himself, doesn’t really associate himself with it, but it’s true that the newspapers liked to call him that, even if the name – like the news itself – is old by now. The three other kids exchange looks at his agreement, no longer muttering but quietly watching, expectantly, though Yuuri has no idea what they’re all waiting for.

“Where did you go?” the boy holding his arm demands, as he finally loosens his grip, allowing Yuuri to pull his arm back to himself with wince.

“I- I don’t know,” Yuuri says, reluctant to lie but unable to tell the truth.

“Did you see others? Were there more of you?” the guy asks, ignoring his answer, staring at him with eyes so intent the gaze burns like a brand.

“I, I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, repeating his words. He’s starting to feel uneasy – it’s obvious there’s more to this than just innocent curiosity, something buried at the roots of the desperation of the other youth.

“So you know nothing,” the boy repeats dully, glaring by now. The other three kids shift in their spots, one of them reaching out hesitantly towards him. “Maybe we should go,” he suggests, but the words lack strength.

“How’d you get back?” the boy asks, shaking off the hand of the kid without even turning.

Yuuri feels guilty even as he parrots his own words once more. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing,” the guy repeats, incredulously. “Nothing! You know nothing? How’s that even possible? I bet you’re lying.”

“Takuya,” the kid who had reached for him earlier interrupts, sounding even more worried than before. “We should go.”

Though the words are stronger this time, the boy – Takuya – ignores them completely, as before.

“You came back, just like that. There’s got to be more to it than that,” Takuya rants, biting out the words like curses. “There’s no way you just dropped back, no memories, no nothing, easy as you please. I bet you’ve been lying this whole time!”

There’s spittle flying as the boy all but rages. Yuuri takes half a step backwards, uncomfortable. It appears to be the wrong move – in a flash, the boy has both hands at the front of his shirt, gripping it and shaking him forcefully, never pausing his speech.

“How did you do it? How did you get back? Why you and not someone else? You should’ve stayed! You should’ve let the others go instead!”

There’s an unnatural growl, startling the four kids into a panic.

“What was that?” one of the three others yelps, glancing around helplessly. “What _was_ that?”

“Are there bears here? Have you heard anything about bear sightings?” one of the boys suggests nervously, looking one second away from bolting.

“That was no bear,” Takuya grates out, pale faced and wide-eyed. “I have no idea what that was, but it wasn’t natural.”

The boy lets go of Yuuri’s shirt, backing up himself, still staring at the kirin. “It was you, wasn’t it? What the fuck are you!?”

“Um,” Yuuri hesitates, cringing. The boy seems to not need an answer, though.

“You’re a freak!” he spits out, still looking half afraid and half mad. He lifts his arm, as if to punch Yuuri, ignoring the other three kids, who’re trying to tug at his clothes to stop him, get his attention, something.

“You should have just stayed dead!” Takuya shouts. “Fucking freak!”

The words are shadowed by an echo of a voice from long ago.

_“You’re not a kirin, you’re just some – some freak!”_

 

* * *

 

Ginsaku wasn’t an easy capture – the stare-down took a full day, and by the end of it Yuuri was so tired he could have cried. There was many a time he thought he was dead for sure, but the quiet weeping of those around him pushed him on when he faltered, kept him on his feet despite the sweat and the fatigue flowing through his body like the blood in his veins.

As the next day dawned, the massive beast bowed for him, its form rippling as the muscles and fur melted and withdrew, growing smaller and smaller, finally leaving behind a small, dog-sized wildcat with silvery fur, which approached Yuuri, purring furiously as it rubbed against his feet.

“It’s over?” a quiet voice asked, and Yuuri startled, looking away from the small cat and seeing Sekishi, sitting on the ground tiredly, staring at them. He smiled hesitantly. Sekishi was a sight – covered in blood and dirt, sweat and tears forming an artwork of contrasting pale lines across his skin. Yuuri imagined he looked much the same.

“Yes,” he said quietly, bending to pick up the cat, smiling a little as it butted its head against the side of his face, still purring smoothly. It was oddly relaxing.

“Good,” Sekishi said shortly, staggering upwards, hunching over slightly but not falling. “Good,” he repeated, as he took slow, dragging steps towards them, pausing to pick up a discarded sword on his way.

“Sekishi?” Yuuri asked, confused and nervous, taking a small step backwards. There was something off about the boy’s expression, the set of his eyes.

“Stay still,” the pale haired boy muttered, eyes not straying from him and the cat, even as he got closer and lifted the sword. “I’m just finishing the job.”

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asked, but stopped as a small growl emanated from the cat within his arms. “Ginsaku?”

“I’m finishing the job,” Sekishi repeated. “You got him, right? Now we just have to finish it.”

He lifted up the sword, and Yuuri suddenly understood his words. “Ginsaku!”

Listening to the commanding voice, Ginsaku nimbly dropped to the floor, disappearing into his shadow as if he was never there. Sekishi paused mid swing, blinking with confusion.

“Bring it back,” Sekishi said, still blinking. “We have to finish it.”

“No,” Yuuri ground out through a constricting throat, fighting tears once more. “We’re not killing him.”

“What are you saying?” Sekishi asked, incredulous. “That thing killed more than half of the village! Of course we’re killing it!”

“No,” Yuuri shook his head. “He’s mine now – Ginsaku is my shirei. He’s not a danger, anymore.”

“That thing will never stop being a danger!” Sekishi shouted, furious. “The only way it’ll be over is if we kill it! Look around you! See what it did? This is all its fault!”

Yuuri shook his head, tears falling without a sound. “He was just doing what demons do. He’s a shirei now, he’s different.”

Sekishi stared at him as if he’d never seen him before.

“What are you?” he asked, voice blank.

“What? Sekishi-”

“What are you? That thing is inside of you now, isn’t it? I never thought about it before,” Sekishi continued, “but kirin take the demons within themselves, don’t they? What makes you any different from them?”

“Sekishi, please,” Yuuri pleaded, wiping at his eyes desperately.

“You’re not a kirin, you’re just some – some freak!”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri tried to appeal to his friend, but Sekishi wasn’t listening.

“Go,” he said, turning his back to the dark-haired boy.

“Sekishi-”

“Go!”

Yuuri reached out helplessly, hovering his hand above the other boy’s shoulder, unable to touch and unable to leave.

“Go before I kill you and that thing inside you,” Sekishi said quietly, shoulders drawing tight and his voice grim and resolute.

Yuuri gasped, choking on a sob, and turned. The walk through the bodies, the blood, and the people struggling to get away from him was painful. As he stepped around strewn limbs, he noticed a familiar set of clothing on one of the bodies, and paused. He recognized the face, even if the eyes were blank and staring into nothing, even if the eyebrows were lax and relaxed instead of furrowed into a scowl.

Yuuri turned away from the sight, more tears spilling over as he passed Mugen’s body, finally reaching the door and bursting out into the dawning day. He didn’t stop running until he was out of the village, finally falling to his knees and heaving and gasping as he threw up onto the dry forest floor, gagging on his own breath and snot.

When Yuuri was fifteen, he decided he didn’t need friends.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?”

Yuuri blinks and shifts his eyes slightly, following the hand gripping around Takuya’s wrist, stopping him from landing the blow he’d intended. It’s Victor – Victor coming to save him, like his own personal knight in shining armor. Yuuri doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.

“Nothing, nothing,” the other three boys hasten to babble, dragging the no longer resisting Takuya with them, bowing as they go. The boy Yuuri dubbed as the leader of the group looks dead inside, even as he follows them, pausing only to turn to look at Yuuri from a few meters away.

“Why you, and not my brother?” he says quietly, but Yuuri hears him easily over the distant noises of the festival. The words feel like a slap against his face – he’s surprised there’s no pain on his cheek to match the painful sting on his heart, no sudden shift in his vision from a punch the way his heart jumps and breaks a little.

“You’re just a freak. Just a freak,” Takuya mumbles, and turns to go.

Yuuri stares after him, feeling lost and sad, worn and tired in a way he shouldn’t be familiar with, at just twenty-three years of age.

“Are you okay?” Victor asks quietly, his eyes on the disappearing backs of the four younger men.

“Yes,” Yuuri replies, his tone subdued, keeping his eyes on the ground. It reminds him of another forest floor, years back.

“Do you want to go home?” Victor asks, not pushing even though it’s obvious Yuuri isn’t fine.

“No,” Yuuri says, trying to pull himself together. “We just got here, you’ve not even gotten to enjoy the festival yet.”

“Don’t worry about me, there’ll always be another festival,” Victor assures him, smiling briefly. “I only care about whether you want to stay or go, right now.”

Yuuri considers the words, considers himself. He feels shaken, pulled tight, like a fabric stretched by time and wear to its very limits. But the feeling is dampened by the warmth of Victor’s body near him, and further dispels as his coach eyes him and seems to find some hidden message or need on his face, pulling him into a clinging hug, reassuring in its strength and the way it surrounds him all over.

Yuuri collapses into the crook of Victor’s shoulder, breathing out a shuddering breath.

“No,” he repeats quietly. “I’d like to stay. I want to watch the fireworks with you.”

“Alright,” Victor assents easily, not pulling away in the slightest, instead tightening the hug further. It feels reassuring rather than suffocating, which is new but makes sense because it’s Victor.

“Then we’ll stay and watch the fireworks. Let’s find a quiet spot.”

Yuuri nods against his shoulder, but doesn’t move.

They stay there for a long while. The fireworks that year are the most beautiful, the most stunning of all time, Yuuri is sure, even if it’s his first time seeing them. Victor calls out “Tamaya!” by his side, causing Yuuri to burst into laughter – something he didn’t expect to be able to do for a few days, at least.

Victor turns to smile at him, ignoring the fireworks. Yuuri smiles back and feels warmed beyond the heat of the summer night, all the way to the depths of his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, another long long chapter done (someone kill me). Did you see the adorable [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10124909) FatimaSalinas did of Yuuri as he is on the other side? Check it out, it's so sweet I want to eat it.
> 
> Sorry about the long wait, life has been hectic, and I busted my knee last weekend while falling on the stairs (ow). It's starting to get better, at least the swelling's mostly gone by now. Bruise is fading bit by bit too~! On to the notes.
> 
> The Hamasaki Gion Festival is in July in the area Hasetsu's real life counterpart is located in. It involves a whole lot of middleaged men wearing loin clothes and open happi coats, pulling a wooden float and playing flutes (trust me, you probably do NOT want to google videos of it). Fundoshi is the type of loin cloth traditional to some Japanese festivals - basically a strip of white fabric, twisted into a rope and tied around your waist and not covering your butt in the least, but at least covering most of the front. Happi coats are another traditional festival garment in Japan - you can find pictures by googling the word.
> 
> Tamaya is something people shout when they see beautiful fireworks in Japan, along with "kagiya" - the two are old, famous brands of fireworks, which popularised the tradition of using fireworks in the nation. These days the names are shouted when the fireworks are especially stunning.
> 
> Tanabata and obon are festivals in Japan. Tanabata is celebrated the 7th day of the 7th month, but by the lunar calendar this falls on August, which is a tradition people stick to in the Kyushu area. So tanabata in Hasetsu would be in August. The celebration involves a rather long story of star-crossed (literally) lovers, but this will likely be covered more in the next chapter, when the event actually happens. Obon is the celebration of dead ancestors, generally occuring likewise on the 7th lunar calendar, on the 15th. The dead are believed to come back for a visit on this day, and there're fires and dancing, and sometimes lanterns sent down the river. It's quite beautiful!
> 
> On to TK side notes.
> 
> Toutetsu, or shape shifters, are quite OP by most definitions. They can freely change shape to almost anything, making them pretty darn difficult to kill - in that sense, Yuuri did the right thing by trying to bring it to submission instead. The only one known for having a toutesu for shirei was Taiki, as mentioned before, and he only succeeded because his emperor was with him and in danger, providing him with enough strength to keep fighting. In this case, Yuuri had the lives of many in his hands, forcing him to keep on trying. 'Lo, Ginsaku appears~!
> 
> Shushi, as noted before, are the people who hunt and tame youjuu in the Yellow Sea. The job is quite dangerous, since most often they'll find themselves out of luck and life, dead at the hands of the beasts they tame, or the occasional youma they run across. Youjuu, after being tamed, are known as kijuu, mount beasts. A high quality mount beast (of a prestigious breed) will fetch enough money to set a person for life (of luxury), so the profession is not without its charms.
> 
> Though it wasn't clarified in the story, Jakyou is a newly mentioned shirei. Her name comes from the kanji 蛇敬 meaning "serpent" or "large snake" and "reverence, respect." She's a sanyo, a snake demon with four wings and rainbow hued scales - there's not much known about them, though some sources say they also have three legs, so who knows~
> 
> The chapter ended up being quite full of stuff, didn't it? When writing, I generally listen to varying kinds of music. If you're interested in examples, I've posted four playlists on Youtube - two for Hourai, two for TK. One of each is for the calmer, happier moments, while the other is either for the more action filled or sadder times. If you're curious, you can check them out here;  
>    
> [For the more eventful or sad Twelve Kingdoms feels](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpxUKjQhsE-wteTrpLUoAv9_mRxl-4WNW)  
> [For the calmer, happier times in TK](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpxUKjQhsE-yQ92S21O-zSVu0QX1HGICi)  
> [The more eventful Hourai stuff](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpxUKjQhsE-yJA4uRPADQniiWQzaa8wyK)  
> [Daily life on this side](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpxUKjQhsE-yVMD6MzlgouHpmUdtM4KjT)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and all the comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc! Your words give me the strength to keep going. We're finally nearing the part where things really kick off ヽ( ´￢`)ﾉ


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, emotions are inconvenient. Sometimes, they're the most rewarding thing there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay this time. I had the flu, probably made worse by the fact I've not had one in some 10 years or so - it lasted over 2 weeks and I was rather miserable for most of it.
> 
> For future's sake, if you're ever uncertain of the next chapter, you can check my tumblr and the tag "writing updates," where I often post about the progress I've made (or not made). You can also message me over there, if you have any questions ;).

The yukata Victor gets is custom made for him – his larger stature means that most shops don’t have much of a selection in his size, and Victor, being himself, isn’t satisfied with what little there is on offer. Luckily, one of the local seamstresses is only too happy to make something more suited to his tastes, thankful for their patronage and the doubtlessly large sum of money Victor offers as an incentive – Yuuri doesn’t ask, preferring not to find out exactly how much his coach is spending on clothes that might only get worn once.

Victor’s confession remains always there, an almost tangible presence whenever they’re alone together, though neither of them brings it up – Victor, true to his word, seems content to wait for Yuuri. It’s something he’s thought about a lot, something that gets harder and harder to ignore as tanabata approaches, as if his mind equates the festival to some kind of a deadline, a self-imposed time limit to his decision.

Victor’s yukata is delivered a few days before the festival, just in time to make sure there’s no need for adjustments. The Russian skater refuses to allow Yuuri to get even a glimpse of it, winking and claiming it to be a surprise, instead pushing the kirin towards his own room with a package shoved in his hands, ignoring the obvious confusion on his face.

“Don’t worry about it, we can add it to the coaching fee!” Victor calls out behind him as he closes the door and leaves Yuuri standing in his own room, clutching the bundle wrapped in brown paper in his hands, still at a loss about what he’s supposed to do and – “What are we adding to the coaching fee, now!?”

Victor’s laugh and fading footsteps are his only answer, so Yuuri huffs out a breath, born from both frustration and exasperation, both feelings he’s grown to know well in the past few months. He eyes the package in his hands, frowning, fingering the tapes holding it closed, before sighing and resigning himself to his fate.

He’s not an idiot – the package is something new, and the only thing Victor has received today was his yukata, which came in a rather large box. Obviously, this parcel was delivered with it, so whatever it is, it’s made by a seamstress. Yuuri didn’t ask for anything, but apparently he’s going to be paying for this – whatever it is – whether he wants it or not, so he best just open the thing and see the damage.

He unravels the paper carefully, hesitant to damage the simple packaging, just in case whatever it is is something they can return, Victor’s arguments be damned. Yuuri doesn’t like being frivolous with money, the way his coach seems to enjoy, so any extra expense feels wasteful, especially when it’s spent on something he doesn’t need. Naturally, Victor would find a way to spend money for the _both_ of them.

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers as he finally manages to tug the last of the tapes open without ripping the paper, unraveling the folded fabric within. It’s a yukata, which he should’ve thought of, really. It’s the most luxurious garment he’s ever seen, let alone owned – he doesn’t dare to imagine the kind of price tag that accompanies something of this level of craftmanship. It goes beyond simple clothes, turning what should be just a piece of fabric into a piece of _art_.

The design itself is fairly simple – the fabric is dark blue, the lines traditional and the folds clean-cut, the familiar shape of a light summer yukata. What isn’t so simple is the pattern – most yukata for men either have no patterns or opt for simple lines and repeating geometrical shapes. This garment does neither – it’s every bit as opulent as any female yukata he’s seen, rivaling the most complex kimono he’s seen Minako-sensei wear on occasion.

The hem starts off simple, nearly white, quickly darkening to a shade akin to the dark of a night sky, sprinkled with stars and petals that seem to float on an unseen wind, contrasting sharply with the dark of their setting. It’s a dizzying maelstrom of flowers, swallowing the sky whole – oddly, there are orchids mixed among the more traditional cherry blossoms and roses. It reminds him of his other form, somehow, of the memories he guards closely.

Which begs to question – how did Victor end up with this design? What led him to pick this, out of all the possible fabrics there must have been?

Yuuri fingers the soft, smooth edge of one of the sleeves, feeling both touched and tremendously sad. To wear this would be like wearing your soul on top of your skin, somehow, but it’s not something he can deny, not after understanding the careful thought that must have gone into selecting just the right thing for Yuuri. Victor must have spent even more money than he had dared to think, if this was just half of his purchase – if this is what Victor picked for Yuuri, then whatever he got for himself is probably even more aureate. No wonder he wants to keep it a surprise – he can consider Yuuri plenty surprised as is.

“Victor, you idiot,” he whispers to no one, the words lacking all heat, ending up sounding fond instead. There’s what sounds like a scoff, probably Ginsaku voicing his annoyance at the soppiness of it all, but none of the shirei protest or complain. Yuuri smiles at their quiet support, and the feeling of fondness only grows stronger.

 

The days before tanabata are full of preparation, the celebration being one of the busiest times for their inn – many of the locals like to celebrate at the onsen, for some reason, and it has become something of a tradition for Yu-topia to host a large party for their customers on the day. The juvenile bamboo trees are specifically picked from a bamboo grove nearby, brought back and hoisted up by Toshiya and Yuuri, with Victor providing eager assistance. The tanzaku are easy, since one of the local craft stores provides them with the strips of paper, readily cut into the right shape and in various shades of bright, carefully picked colours. There’ll be a sign for the store near the papers, telling everyone where the paper slips came from, in return – a small piece of advertising to repay the gift.

The festival, once again, reminds Yuuri of his ponderings on the existence of divinity and gods on this side. He’s no closer to an answer. While the other side had a fairly unified religious system, shared between all of the twelve kingdoms, perhaps because of the proximity of both the divine and the fey, Hourai is a whole different matter, an amalgamation of all kinds of beliefs and myths. There’s no clear line, all the myths blurring together, becoming a mixture of several, different stories, no longer distinguishable from one another. Tanabata, in that sense, is no different, having roots in various old folk tales.

The day of the celebration dawns clear and bright, something Yuuri’s mother comments on happily.

“I’m glad it’s clear,” she says as she brings breakfast for both of the skaters, not forgetting to bring something for Makkachin, as well. “It’d be a shame if they couldn’t meet because of rain, this year.”

“Who?” Victor asks through a mouthful of food, earning a disapproving glance from Hiroko. The Russian skater quickly chews through his food and swallows, smiling sheepishly.

“Why, Orihime and Hikoboshi, of course,” Hiroko replies easily, before being called away by one of the customers hollering for some more beer.

“So early,” Yuuri mutters to no one in particular, but sighing in resignation. There will be lots of cleaning to do tomorrow, it seems, not that it’s anything particularly new to them.

“Who are Orihime and Hikoboshi?” Victor asks, between bites, blinking at Yuuri curiously.

“Oh,” Yuuri replies, surprised. “You haven’t heard of the story behind tanabata yet?”

“No,” Victor smiles at him. “But that just means I get to hear it from you.”

Yuuri flushes slightly and averts his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly, before soldiering on.

“It’s a fairly old story, I think,” he explains, avoiding looking directly at Victor’s overly bright face. “Orihime was the daughter of Tentei” – and isn’t it amusing, that the name of the king of the universe itself is the same here as the name of the Emperor of the Heavens on the other side, even sharing the same kanji – “who used to weave clothes on the bank of the Milky Way, the celestial river. She fell in love with Hikoboshi, a cowherd from the other side of the river, and they got married soon after.”

“Oh, so it’s a love story,” Victor says, pleased.

“Yes, but it wasn’t quite that easy for them,” Yuuri disagrees. Most fairytales and folk tales tend to have rather unfortunate circumstances, come to think of it. The pair of lovers were no different in that, though some might argue they brought it on themselves.

“After they married, they shirked their duties, no longer weaving cloth or herding the cows, leaving them to wander freely,” Yuuri continues. “Tentei, of course, was mad for this, and separated them on the two sides of the Milky Way, forbidding them from ever meeting again.”

“Ohh,” Victor nods, lengthening the sound into a hum. “So it’s a story of literally star-crossed lovers.”

Yuuri blinks in surprise. “I never thought of it, but that’s true – maybe it even has something to do with the expression.”

“Did they ever meet again?” Victor asks, before smirking slightly. “I know I would go under the father’s eyes and find some way to meet, if it was me separated from the one I love, whatever the gods had to say to that.”

Yuuri flushes anew and shakes his head in exasperation. “I’m not surprised – that sounds like something you would do. But yes, they did – Orihime was so distraught, that her father relented to letting them meet once a year, as long as she would continue to work hard on her weaving in-between. But the first time they were to see each other again, they realized there was no bridge to cross the river, leaving them unable to meet.”

“Wait,” Victor looks confused. “Then how did they meet in the first place?”

“Um,” Yuuri hesitates. “I think Tentei arranged it? Or something like that.”

“So basically,” Victor reiterates, “the father arranges for his daughter to meet a guy, and when they fall in love and focus on their marriage, gets mad and separates them and only lets them meet once a year? Wow.”

“Well, it _is_ an old folk tale – they’re not exactly the epitome of logical,” Yuuri points out, receiving a conceding shrug from Victor, and a gesture to continue.

“If you’re done questioning the acts of the king of the whole universe,” Yuuri raises an eyebrow, receiving a dry look in return, “you’ll be happy to find out that they still managed to meet. Orihime cried so much some magpies took pity on her, allowing her to cross the river on their wings.”

“I’m not sure I’d call that a happy ending, really,” Victor muses, wiping his mouth with a napkin, finished with his food. “They still only get to see once a year. I don’t think I could do that.”

“I suppose,” Yuuri agrees with a frown. “It’s a somewhat sad story. And if it rains, the magpies can’t come so they’ll have to wait for next year to meet again.”

“I guess it’s a good thing there’s no Tentei here to get mad at us, then,” Victor smiles at him meaningfully, leaning back on his arms on the other side of the table.

Yuuri knows his reaction is probably confusing, but he can’t stop himself from frowning harder in return, a feeling similar to realization filling him. The words are double-edged, even if Victor is unaware of it – for one, they remind him of the confession he still has to answer, but even more than that, they remind him that there is, in fact, a ‘Tentei’ somewhere, watching and waiting, connected to his very being by some invisible force. There is no doubt that his recent actions wouldn’t have earned any kind of approval from the Emperor of the Heavens, and he’s no different from Orihime and Hikoboshi in the way he’s shirking his duties, running away from his responsibility as the kirin of Kou, the responsibility to choose the next king. He can only hope that he won’t face a similar end as the two star-crossed lovers, though given the typical lifespan of a kirin, at least he wouldn’t have to face it for _long_. It’s a sobering thought.

 

* * *

 

The Emperor of the Heavens, in all his wiseness, often made choices that left a lot to be asked, if anyone cared about Yuuri’s opinion. Perhaps there was some greater purpose to it all, invisible to the common folk, but lacking that bigger picture, it was obvious that the criteria for a capable king were highly unusual, if not outright ludicrous.

When he turned sixteen, Yuuri descended Mt Hou. Officially, this was to look for his king by himself; unofficially, Yuuri had given up hope on the fabled ruler even existing. He was fairly sure there was no king waiting for him, whether it be on Mount Hou or out in the wider world. Perhaps the Emperor had forsaken Kou, fed up with the previous monarchs and their less than stellar choices, or perhaps the king had just not been born yet. There had been kirin before that never discovered the new king, passing on in silence and leaving the task to the next sacred beast. Perhaps Yuuri would be one of them.

Rather than head directly to Kou and begin scouring the land, Yuuri decided to travel. The sages had provided him with enough money to survive for a long while, as long as he wasn’t wasteful with it. He knew hardly anything of the twelve kingdoms that made up his new home world, despite all the years he had spent close to them; that had been made clear by Sekishi and the koushu.

En was off the books, for no other reason than the fact it was Rokuta’s kingdom. Yuuri had last seen Enki directly after the events in the Yellow Sea, and the other kirin had called it his “teenage angst phase,” which had probably been somewhat accurate if unnecessarily blunt. They had parted on somewhat uncomfortable, if amicable terms – the kirin of En hadn’t blamed him for anything, but it was obvious he was running out of patience when dealing with Yuuri.

With no clear objective in mind, Yuuri decided on where to go by the tried and tested method of random chance; the gate which opened first was the one he’d take, and he’d proceed from there. As luck happened, with the time it would take to reach the gates after his birthday and the concurrent celebration, the gate was the Reiken Gate, in Kyou, which opened on the spring equinox. It was the very same gate that had first welcomed people to the Yellow Sea after his return to the mountain.

Being a kirin without a king provided Yuuri with more freedom than most others of his kind – he had no ruler, so there was no one working behind him to unknown ends. He was a lone kirin, so it was unlikely he could be seen to be interfering in the business of other kingdoms, and could thus avoid being punished by the gods. Most would believe him to be looking for his king, even if he chose to do it by traversing kingdoms other than his own; it wasn’t impossible that the king could reside in another kingdom, after all, even if unlikely.

Most thought the king had to be a citizen of his kingdom – Yuuri thought it was more likely that they could not be a citizen of _another_. He was fairly sure a koushu could be chosen as a king, even while belonging to none of the twelve kingdoms; thus holding no strong ties or duty to a place other than the one they would govern, freeing them from conflict of interest.

Kyou was an interesting kingdom, with a relatively recent ruler and one of the physically oldest kirin among the current sacred beasts. Kyouki had taken close to his allotted thirty years to find the next king and had matured late, at an unusually large stature and hair the colour of copper, rather than the typical golden hue. In contrast, the king he had chosen was a young girl of mere twelve years old, now eternally frozen in her youthful appearance.

Yuuri shuddered to think of having to deal with the same – Enki was self-conscious of his own, smaller stature, even if he seemed to have resigned himself to it. Luckily, Yuuri did not appear to have matured yet, still growing at a normal rate for a kirin, something the kirin of En found quite annoying.

“I had heard there was a kirin on Mount Hou,” Shushou, of the regnal name Saishou, the ruler of Kyou, greeted Yuuri when he was granted entrance to the Maplefrost Palace in Renshou, the capital city of Kyou. “I had even heard you were a rare black kirin, though I had not seen one before now. Tell me, why are you here?”

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure of the etiquette when meeting another kingdom’s ruler, but he was fairly sure stammering and gaping uselessly was not it. He bowed as much as he was able to, given that this was not his _own_ king – a kirin only bowed their head to their ruler, and to do so for another was nigh impossible.

“I’m looking for my king,” he offered hesitantly, staring at the floor rather than the resplendent robes of the young lady-king.

“I doubt you’ll find them in my halls,” Shushou remarked dryly.

“My lady, perhaps he is tired – we should assign him one of the free rooms and allow him to rest,” Kyouki spoke up from behind her, bowing his head in reverence.

“Be quiet, you over-indulgent pony,” Shushou told her kirin, though her tone was far from scolding, instead closer to exasperated. Kyouki subsided into silence.

“No,” Shushou continued as if she had not been interrupted. “I don’t think we will. Tell me, Master Kouki – what do you think the duty of a kirin is? _Who_ do you think their duty is to?”

“I- the king, my lady,” Yuuri replied, knowing the answer by something almost like reflex by now.

“The kirin _serves_ the king, yes,” Shushou agreed, but her voice held a hint of censure. “But the kirin’s _duty_ is to the people. It is the duty of the kirin to choose wisely, and to choose quickly; both the kingdom and the people await the king, for a land without one is desolate and in discord.”

“…that is true,” Yuuri agreed after a pause.

“Now tell me this, Master Kouki – is your king within my halls?”

“No, your highness,” Yuuri replied quietly. “They are not.”

“So why are you here, then?” Shushou asked, lifting one elegant eyebrow and eyeing him with something close to disdain.

“My lady–” Kyouki called out once more, but stopped when the young king lifted her hand to stall his words.

“I apologize,” Yuuri said, feeling thoroughly scolded and ashamed. “I will bother you no longer.”

“Now, I didn’t say you had to leave immediately,” Shushou countered, her earlier severity suddenly gone, smiling mischievously. “You are free to stay with us as long as you need, Master Kouki – a room will be prepared for you. You must merely never forget your duty to the people; if you can promise us this, we will lend you our hospitality for as long as it’s required.”

“I– I promise,” Yuuri agreed, hesitant but firm. “Thank you, your highness.”

“None of this ‘your highness’ business – just call me Shushou, or Lady Shushou if you must. Now, I wish to hear of your experiences on Mount Hou – Kyouki is most useless when it comes to telling stories. I wonder if all kirin are the same, or if it’s just him. Please enlighten me on this, Master Kouki.”

 

Yuuri enjoyed his stay in Kyou, despite its rather tense beginnings. The dynamic between the kirin of Kyou and its monarch were peculiar, causing him to wonder if all kirin and kings were like this, or just the pair in question. Shushou held nothing back from her kirin, scolding him freely and even slapping him on occasion – Kyouki, in return, was almost timid despite his large stature and older appearance. The sight of the two would have been comical, if one was not aware of the rank they held – a twelve-year-old girl, dressed in lavish clothes and magnificent jewelry, berating what appeared to be a middle-aged man of considerable height and strength, meekly accepting every rebuke.

From Kyou, he headed to Ryuu, the northernmost of the twelve kingdoms and the neighbor of both Kyou and En, neatly sandwiched between the two. Choosing to go this way meant he would either have to pass through En to continue, or double back through Kyou – but the other option was skipping the kingdom entirely, something Yuuri wanted to avoid.

Ryuu was a sharp contrast to Kyou. Shushou had warned him that there were rumours of the kingdom being in decline, with increasing rate of crime and attacks by youma, too many for them to be mere drifters from the tumultuous shores of Tai. Whereas Kyou appeared well settled and prosperous, Ryuu carried signs of poverty and strife, even beyond the fact that most of its dwellings were built underground. It was obvious the fields weren’t producing enough to feed everyone, from the thin, lank visage of the citizens and the weak, starved beggars sitting on the streets between the proper, above-ground buildings of the larger cities.

Yuuri encountered no less than nine pick-pockets on his way to the capital of Ryuu, and even a few muggers; nothing that his shirei couldn’t scare away, pretending to be wild demon beasts, but it was a worrying sign of the unrest in the land. It was obvious the people were unhappy and struggling. Shisou, despite being the capital of the kingdom, was lacking the abundance that had been so easily apparent on his stay in Renshou.

Despite these rather grim thoughts, Yuuri found the city interesting as he wandered its streets and alleys. His unfamiliarity must have been obvious, though, for it didn’t take long for someone to call out to him as he stopped to gawk at a fancier-than-normal building of a curious style, with pillars and panes painted in a lustrous green.

“Are you lost?” a voice nearby asked, coming from a curiously low point, despite the maturity of it – too old to be a child, but still young enough to be in early adulthood.

Yuuri turned to glance behind him, then shifted his eyes downwards and startled.

There was a mouse; a talking, standing, large mouse, in fact. Yuuri blinked in surprise, forgetting his reply as he stared. He thought he had read about this somewhere, even if he couldn’t quite remember the word right now, and had never seen it before, but…

“Never seen a hanjyuu before?” the mouse asked, his voice smiling where the rounded cheeks and pointed snout couldn’t convey the expression. The long whiskers near his nose were shivering as if in excitement.

“Um,” Yuuri said slowly. “No, not really. I’m sorry, I’m being rude.”

“It’s alright, I’m used to it!” the mouse replied, waving his apology away dismissively. “Not many hanjyuu around here, either, from what I’ve gathered. Ryuu’s not the most welcoming of kingdoms when it comes to our kind.”

“Still,” Yuuri insisted, bowing a little. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“Oh, you’re a polite one!” the mouse said, appearing pleased. “It’s a nice change, to be honest. My name is Rakushun – it’s written with the characters for happy and swift. At your service!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Yuuri said hesitantly, taken aback by the cheerfulness of the half-beast. “I’m Yuuri. At – at your service?”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Rakushun agreed. “Now, you appear to be a little lost – I’m fairly sure you didn’t want to enter the building you were eyeing, though I apologize if I’m wrong.”

Yuuri blinked in confusion.

“It’s a brothel, you see,” Rakushun said, stroking his whiskers with his paws. “That’s why the pillars and everything else is green.”

Yuuri let out a sound close to a screech and whipped around to gape at the building, just as one of its window hatches opened and a woman in a rather loose garb leaned out with a long, elegant pipe, noticing his stare and waving at them. The collar of her clothing fell further as she waved with a smirk, revealing rather more of her skin than Yuuri was comfortable with. He practically ran in his hurry to get away from the apparent brothel, blushing furiously all the while, paying no mind to the pitter patter of footsteps following after him.

“I take it you didn’t know that,” a cheerful voice commented, and Yuuri realized that Rakushun had followed him. “Are you a kaikyaku, perhaps?”

“Um.” Yuuri slowed down his pace to allow the shorter legs of the mouse-like halfling to keep up with him. “A taika, actually.”

“A taika! I have a friend who’s a taika – a few friends, actually,” Rakushun said. “There’s a certain air to your kind, makes you stand out.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Yuuri said honestly. “But I haven’t met many taika, other than myself.”

“Take my word for it then!” Rakushun replied. “If you’ve not found a place to stay yet, how about sharing a room with me – I’d feel better knowing you’re not going to be accidentally entering a criminal den or something, in search of a roof for the night.”

“At the risk of sounding like an idiot,” Yuuri admitted sheepishly, “that’s not outside the realm of possibility. I’d be glad if you can spare the space. Thank you.”

“Not to worry, not to worry,” Rakushun assured him. “It’ll be cheaper to get a room between the two of us, in fact. You’ll be helping me out, too!”

 

That was how Yuuri met Rakushun, the first half-beast he had seen and one of the most clever and well-learned people he would ever meet.

 

* * *

 

“Orihime and Hikoboshi refer to the stars Altair and Vega, right?” Victor asks as they’re stretching at the foot of the stairs to a shrine, preparing for a light work-out running up and down on them.

“Vega and Altair, respectively, but yes,” Yuuri says, unsure where the question is leading.

“We should go stargazing sometime,” Victor says, leaving Yuuri spluttering a little.

He feels a bit like he’s getting whiplash from trying to follow the logical progression of the thoughts of his coach. He’s not sure he _wants_ to understand the logic behind them.

“Alright,” he says for the lack of anything better. “We can do that?”

“Great!” Victor exclaims. “The last one at the top has to do all the dishes!”

And he’s off.

Yuuri gapes after him uselessly.

“Victor! That’s not fair! Do you know how many dishes there’s going to be after the party tonight? Victor, wait up!”

Naturally, Victor does _not_ wait up, not that Yuuri really expected him to. He swears under his breath and briefly considers cheating à la shirei, before dismissing the thought.

It’s likewise natural that Yuuri loses the rather unfairly one-sided contest. He takes it with good grace – meaning he complains the whole way back to the inn, trying to get Victor to call the bet off without any success – even though he never agreed to the deal in the first place.

When they reach the outer yard of the house, Yuuri hesitates outside the doors before reaching to grab at Victor’s sleeve, stopping him from opening them. The Russian skater turns to regard him with mild confusion, but doesn’t try to free himself.

“Victor–” Yuuri hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“What is it?” Victor asks, frowning in slight concern at his obvious discomfort. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“About what you said, during the Gion festival,” Yuuri trails off.

“You mean my confession?” Victor’s mouth quirks up at one end, and the sides of his eyes crinkle slightly in both amusement and mild self-depreciation.

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees hastily, “that.”

“I remember.”

“I don’t know about – about love,” Yuuri explains, falteringly, “I’m not sure how to, to recognize something like that. I’m not very good with feelings. But...”

“But?” Victor prompts gently, his full attention focused on Yuuri in a way that makes the Japanese skater fear he’ll catch fire from the intensity of it.

“I’dliketotry,” he blurts out, turning his face to the side in an effort to avoid seeing Victor’s expression.

There’s a long pause as his coach tries to parse his words.

“You’d – like to try?” Victor reiterates carefully, and Yuuri nods.

“Try... dating?” Victor further clarifies, his voice an open question.

“Yes,” Yuuri says quietly, finally turning back to glance at the other skater’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. Victor’s face is doing something very complicated, struggling between two expressions. Yuuri is fairly sure one of them is elation, so he doesn’t feel too bad about offering a relieved smile to the man.

“I’d be happy to date you,” Victor finally says, a smile breaking out on his face. “I’d be _more_ than happy to date you.”

“I’m sorry if I’m not very good at it,” Yuuri says, a pre-emptive warning.

“There’s no ‘right’ way to dating, Yuuri,” Victor chides, still smiling, looking so happy it almost hurts. “We’ll go at your pace, whatever you’re happy with.”

The door next to them suddenly slams open, and Mari pulls to a stop at the sight of the two, standing there and clutching hands, though Yuuri doesn’t know when that happened or who reached for whom first.

“What are you two doing, standing there?” Mari asks, her expression incredulous.

“Mari-neechan!” Victor shouts, much too loud. “Yuuri just agreed to go out with me! Can I call you sister?”

“You already did,” Mari says before the words apparently register. “Wait, what? You’re dating? Since when?”

“Victor!” Yuuri yelps.

“Since now!” Victor says happily. “I’m so happy! We should tell your parents first of all, Yuuri!”

Yuuri wonders where to start.

“You just told Mari, Victor,” he says, defeat in his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to discuss these kinds of things before you reveal everything to the parents and such? I thought that’s how it works, at least.”

“Whoops,” Victor doesn’t look sorry in the least, though he does take a moment to appraise Yuuri’s expression for a more serious rebuttal, smiling when there’s none apparent.

“I wonder if your parents would let me call them mama and papa,” Victor muses out loud.

“Isn’t that moving a bit fast?” Yuuri can’t help sounding alarmed.

“You think so?” Victor asks, frowning and worrying at his lip. “But if we’re going to be dating and getting married at some point, I should get used to calling them that. It’d be weird to refer to them by their names then, right?”

“Married!?” both Mari and Yuuri gape at Victor.

“Wow! Such a perfect duet!” Victor beams. “You really are siblings!”

Mari stares at Victor, her expression somewhere between deadpan and just plain dead.

“…You do something to calm him down,” she says after a pause, “I’ll go prepare– I mean, warn mom and dad.”

“…Right,” Yuuri agrees.

“Do you think a Japanese style wedding or a western style wedding would be better?” Victor asks, his tone distracted as he taps his lips and stares into the distance.

Yuuri sighs.

 

Yuuri and Mari’s combined efforts are enough to keep their parents calm through the confusion of Victor pestering them about their preferred marriage locations and the desired number of grandchildren. There seems to be no calming the Russian skater down, though – it’s like he’s on a simultaneous coffee and sugar high, impossible to repress or contain. His twitter is quickly filled with confusing half-messages, promptly after Yuuri’s agreement to them dating each other. His followers appear about as confused as Yuuri’s parents, which isn’t surprising.

‘Is the weather in spring better in Russia or Japan? Maybe another place altogether ))) #WW #KatsukiYuuri #SheSaidOkay’ one of the tweets reads. When Yuuri questions the hashtags, Victor claims that ‘ww’ is obviously wedding woes, and “Hiroko said I can call her mama, isn’t that great?”

“She agreed?” Yuuri blinks at his coach, half startled, half resigned. His mother adores Victor, so it’s not really a surprise that she’d be happy to let the Russian call her mama, he supposes. “What about dad?”

“I think he’ll take a bit more convincing,” Victor honest-to-god pouts at him, as if not being allowed to call Yuuri’s father ‘papa’ is a grave issue he’ll worry over until it’s repealed and gone.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” Yuuri asks, unwilling to burst Victor’s bubble of happiness but feeling completely overwhelmed. Victor blinks at him in confusion.

“What is?” he asks, either intentionally elusive or seriously not seeing how fast things are moving, all of the sudden.

“Nothing,” Yuuri sighs, giving up. “Do you want to go see the stalls? There should be quite a few of them, for tanabata, and you didn’t really get to enjoy them the last time.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Victor says, his eyes widening in realization. “We need to get ready! Go change, quickly, we can’t be late!”

“Late for what,” Yuuri mutters, but obligingly gets up, sending his happily chattering parents and despairing sister a sideways look. Only Mari seems to share his woes, though, and the small shrug she offers is decidedly unhelpful.

“Wear the yukata I got you,” Victor all but demands, already rushing to his own room to get changed as well. “Don’t even think about wearing something else!”

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri breathes out, calling out a distracted greeting to Minako-sensei who’s just stumbling in, already half-drunk. She’ll likely be fully drunk by the time they come back, he imagines, and even more likely completely filled in with the latest developments in the tragicomedy that is Yuuri’s life.

He’s lost track of the number of times he’s sighed in the last hour or so.

 

* * *

 

Rakushun, it turned out, was extremely well-read.

“I’m a student, you see,” he explained, sitting on one of the two simple beds in their rented room. “I would normally be in classes at the Greater Learning in En, but a friend asked me for a favour so – here I am.”

“You came all the way to Ryuu just for a favour?” Yuuri asked, surprised.

“He’s a mighty important friend, that he is,” Rakushun nodded sagely.

Yuuri wondered if he realized the dual meaning to his words – most likely, considering how clever the hanjyuu seemed. “So what is the favour he asked of you – if I may ask, that is.”

Rakushun’s whiskers drooped. “An important favour for an important friend,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed it, but Ryuu seems to be on the decline – the laws here have always been strict, so information on the state of things is hard to come by, especially outside the kingdom. There are rumours of youma attacks increasing of late, though, and that there is corruption in the offices. Some say the kingdom is rotting at its core – it’s not good, what they say.”

“Oh,” Yuuri whispered. “I didn’t realize it was so bad – Lady Shushou said–”

“Lady Shushou?” Rakushun blinked his huge eyes at him curiously. “The only Shushou I know of would be the lady-king of Kyou, Saishou. You’re friends with the monarch of Kyou?”

Well, that was one way to reveal his identity, Yuuri supposed. It wasn’t really that he was in hiding, or anything; it was merely more convenient to not announce his presence, when among the common citizens.

“I wouldn’t call us friends,” Yuuri said slowly. “Though we do know of each other, mostly because of our roles, I suppose. She offered her hospitality when I passed through her kingdom on the way to Ryuu. I apologize – I’ve been remiss in my introductions. My name is Yuuri, but that is only the name I was known by on the other side, in Hourai. Here, most call me Kouki: I am the kirin of Kou.”

Rakushun’s eyes widened impossibly and his whiskers straightened into points, frozen stiff. “The kirin of Kou, you say?”

“Yes,” Yuuri bowed his head slightly. “I’m sorry for not explaining sooner.”

“Well,” Rakushun said, almost to himself. “Perhaps it’s fate at work, here. You’re not the first kirin I’ve met. In fact, the important friend I mentioned earlier was a kirin, as well – the kirin of En, Enki.”

“You’re here as a favour to Rokuta?” Yuuri asked, surprised.

“I suppose that answers one question,” Rakushun said, his tone amused. “But why is the kirin of Kou in Ryuu, of all places?”

“I’m not sure, actually,” Yuuri confessed, hanging his head. “I’m not – I grew up in Hourai, as you probably know. I don’t think I’m meant for this, to be a kirin. I’ve not seen or heard or sensed any trace of some king or their aura, in all the time I’ve been on this side. Maybe I’m not meant to find one – maybe I’ll be one of those kirin that never have a revelation or discover the king.”

Rakushun stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “So you’re travelling to find yourself, and not the king?”

Yuuri stared at the mouse quietly, not answering.

“I suppose that’s as good a goal for a journey as any,” Rakushun nodded decisively. “Have you thought on where to go from Ryuu?”

“I, ah, don’t want to visit En – Rokuta and I had something of a disagreement the last time we saw each other. If you happen to see him, though, I’d be glad if you passed on my greetings and such.”

“No En?” Rakushun asked, humming. “Well, if you have no clearer goals than that, might I suggest you try Sou or Kei? You’d be best off avoiding Tai and Hou entirely, right now – both are dangerous places to visit, at the moment, with no king and suffering from a surge of youma.”

“Why Sou or Kei?” Yuuri asked, curious.

“Well, Sou is well known for its king’s long reign and peaceful nature. Enki seemed to have great respect for the Priest-King of Sou,” the hanjyuu explained. “It might benefit you to see how a long rule under a good king improves the land. As for Kei – well, I have to admit I have rather more selfish motivations there. The recent lady-king of Kei is my friend, you see, and I think it would do you both some good to meet and talk. She’s also a taika, you know.”

“You’re friends with a king?” Yuuri asked, returning the half-beast’s earlier words with some amusement.

“Well,” Rakushun said, shrugging.

“Hmm,” Yuuri mused quietly. “I suppose it might be nice to meet other taika. And if Rokuta respects the ruler of Sou, I’m sure he must be a great person.”

“There you go, then!” Rakushun said, sounding pleased. “Now you have a goal.”

“I suppose I do,” Yuuri agreed, smiling back.

 

Given an objective, Yuuri decided not to stay in Ryuu for longer; he parted ways with Rakushun the next day, taking his advice and heading for the docks, where he was hoping to catch a ship over the inland sea towards Kei. The ship would most likely make a stop in En, but it would be in passing, hopefully not even requiring him to disembark. The four inland seas were fairly large, making the trip over them a long one; but it was much preferable to traversing through En by foot.

Finding a ship wasn’t difficult, thankfully. The officials observing the embarking and disembarking processes proved Rakushun’s earlier words of corruption within the ranks by offering to ignore his lack of passport in return for a small bribe. He did have a passport, but it was unlikely to maintain his anonymity, so the bribe was the better option – even if it made him feel somewhat dirty, for all that the transaction took merely a minute to get over and done with.

“ _So Ryuu is crumbling_ ,” Shinri remarked quietly from within him, unheard by the crowd around them.

“All kingdoms do eventually, don’t they?” Yuuri murmured in return.

Shinri didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to – Yuuri knew the answer to that.

“You getting on or not, boy?” one of the crewmembers called out to him loudly, startling him from his thoughts.

“I’m getting on, I’m getting on!” Yuuri called back hurriedly, rushing to get on the ship before it set sail without him – it would be just his luck to miss his ticket to Kei before even setting foot on it.

“Almost missed the boat, there,” a man commented to him with a smirk, leaning against the rails and watching the seabirds floating on the currents. Yuuri nodded in greeting but ignored the words, heading inside the ship to look for his quarters, which he would likely have to share with other people. It was better than walking, he reminded himself once more.

“ _You could always have used us_ ,” Ginsaku pointed out quietly.

“And scare everyone into thinking they’re being attacked by demon beasts?” Yuuri muttered under his breath, thankful for the deserted corridor.

Ginsaku’s answer was a disinterested grumble, showing how little he cared for the panic of the people. Then again, he had little reason to do so, didn’t he, Yuuri mused. A shape shifter would be hard pressed to be troubled by anything the humans could throw at it.

 

The first stretch of the voyage went smoothly. Yuuri did have to share his sleeping quarters with three other people, one of whom was another half-beast, only going to En and no further – “They treat us well, there – you can get a job or study and everything” – but En proved the turning point for his good luck, which had held strong so far.

After the ship sailed on from En, passing from the waters of the Black Sea into those of the Blue Sea, it became obvious something was amiss. The waves became at once stronger, the wind more unpredictable; Yuuri heard one of the crew complain about bad omens in the sky. Though not familiar with reading the sky, he could agree the clouds looked ominous and unnatural – there was a black mass gathering above them, beyond anything Yuuri had seen before.

“Looks like the Cloud Sea might come falling on us in its entirety,” one of the passengers remarked, looking worried.

“Don’t jinx us,” a man nearby muttered, frowning as heavily as the other speaker.

No sooner had he spoken that the skies opened up, a heavy curtain of rain falling upon them without warning.

“See!” the same man shouted to be heard over the downpour. “You just had to go and say that; the gods must have heard you!”

His words were accompanied by the crackle-boom of lightning flashing through the air uncomfortably close. In front of their eyes, the sea was transforming from a tranquil visage into a raging storm, but the change didn’t stop there – the water was twisting beyond the pull of the waves, rising unnaturally at points – “Waterspouts!” someone called, but Yuuri could hardly make out the speaker in the chaos of the rain and the rocking of the ship.

“This is no ordinary storm!”

“ _A shoku_ ,” Shinri announced suddenly, grim.

“It’s a shoku!” Yuuri shouted as loudly as he could, conveying the message for the rest of the passengers.

“All is lost, then,” came a voice from somewhere close, as grim as Shinri’s. “There is nothing to be done for a shoku, except to pray for good luck.”

The ship groaned under the opposing force of the wind and the waves, being pulled in separate directions by the twists of the shoku upon them.

“The ship isn’t going to hold!” a crewmember shouted, sounding desperate. His words proved correct – the ship groaned once more, as a spiraling tunnel of water suddenly twisted up towards the sky right next to it, sending it crashing over, the air filled with cries and shrieking.

“ _Kouki_!” Shinri screamed, frantic – telling him to summon her. But there was no time, nor a chance to do so. The bucking of the dying ship had sent Yuuri flying through the air, like most others onboard; except in his case, he didn’t get the harsh, damp slap of hitting the surface of the sea. In true sign of his recent bout of bad luck, rather than the accommodating expanse of water, the kirin encountered the unforgiving side of the ship as it dipped back upwards, carried by the roiling waves. Before Yuuri could even consider summoning one of his shirei, everything around him turned into darkness as his head hit the wooden rail, just before he plummeted into the sea.

 

* * *

 

 

There isn’t much going through Yuuri’s mind as he stares at Victor in his yukata, eagerly waiting for him at the front door. What there is, can be best summarized by a wordless sound close to a dying whine from the last breaths of a collapsing building.

Victor got them matching yukata.

 _No_ , Yuuri repeats to his sluggishly ticking brain, _you don’t get it. He got us matching yukata_.

There’s not enough power anywhere in the world to comprehend the existence that is Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri is sure of this. He’s also sure he’s going to die of either embarrassment or the incomprehensible tangle of the rest of his unnamable, indecipherable emotions before the night is over.

He really ought to say something before Victor loses the smile, though, because the Russian man is already starting to frown a little as he waits for Yuuri’s reaction.

“Brains,” is what Yuuri comes up with, which… is actually a fairly accurate rendition of his zombie-like state right now. Victor blinks at him and loses the smile anyway, in favour of a more confused expression.

“Are you alright, Yuuri?” he asks uncertainly, leaving the doorway to come check on his mortally wounded student.

“Um, I, that is,” Yuuri stutters. “Matching. They’re matching. You got us matching yukata, Victor!”

There we go, vocal functions restored.

“Yes?” Victor says, looking no less confused despite the much more comprehensible string of words Yuuri managed to produce just for him.

“It’s – it’s not _done_ ,” Yuuri wails, hiding his face in his palms.

“Well, obviously it is, since we just did it,” Victor points out reasonably.

“Yes, but. It’s not done,” Yuuri insists, lifting his face to glare back almost defiantly.

Victor’s expression could be best described as heart-broken. “You don’t like it? Do you want to go change to something else, then?”

“What – no, that’s not…” Yuuri groans in despair.

Victor brightens up immediately. “Well, what’s the problem then? Let’s go already, Yuuri! I want to see the decorations they’ve put up!”

Yuuri follows after him, helplessly, pulled along by Victor’s warm hand over his. It feels like a pretty good summary of his life since Victor arrived in Hasetsu, actually. Pulled along by the unstoppable force that is Victor. It’s best not to think of the way he’s been gradually losing all the will and ability to complain about it, though.

 

The festival decorations Victor was so excited about aren’t anything special, even if his coach’s obvious enjoyment of them makes them appear brighter in his eyes. There are several young bamboo trees propped up, of course, as is to be expected of tanabata – but there are also the traditional paper decorations and props of various popular characters and mascots, lit up in a fashion that would make any American Christmas-enthusiast weep tears of joy and envy.

Yuuri finds them rather tacky, to be honest, but Victor exclaims over all of them, asking about every character on show and where they come from. The hand in his is starting to feel almost uncomfortably hot, despite it being August already. The weather seems to be trying to make up for the unusually long winter by stretching the summer long into the months of fall.

The matching yukata they’re wearing garner less looks than Yuuri had expected. Perhaps the people of Hasetsu are already getting used to Victor and his foreigner quirks, accepting his peculiarities and applying them to Yuuri as well. It’s almost warming, the way people’s eyes move easily over them, without a pause.

Victor doesn’t even notice the few longer glances they get, most likely used to the adoring eye of the public being on him most of the time. It’s oddly reassuring, the way he ignores the crowd in favour of Yuuri and whatever decoration catches his eye next.

“Oh, what’s that?” Victor asks, pointing at a candy sculpting stand.

Yuuri pinches the arm holding his with his free hand in admonishment. “Don’t point, it’s rude.”

“Yes, dear,” Victor says with amusement, stopping Yuuri’s explanation at its roots as he tries to process the words.

“Victor!” he complains, aware that his face is imitating the bright red paper streamers they have to walk through, unable to move to the side in the bustling crowd. Victor has to bend down to pass through them.

“So, what is it?” his coach asks, ignoring his complaint.

“It’s candy sculpting,” Yuuri explains grudgingly, following the unerring steps of his coach to the stand in question. “You pick a sculpt you like and carve it out with small picks. They break very easily, so it’s best to go for something simple.”

“Can we try it?” Victor asks, smiling at him expectantly. Yuuri shrugs his agreement, so they both crouch down to peruse the available molds, returning the greeting of the stand owner.

Yuuri ends up with the rather basic gourd shape, which he manages to work out without any breaks on his first try. Victor, on the other hand, goes for one of the hardest shapes, some character from a popular anime, and only gives up when Yuuri points out the time after his seventh attempt results in an oddly shaped mass with no arms or legs.

“It must have been rigged,” Victor insists as they join the queue for tanzaku writing.

“How do you even rig a candy sculpt?” Yuuri asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously.

Victor pouts at him, but gives up the argument as their turn comes up, one of the festival officials offering them both their slips of paper with a smile.

“What are you going to wish for, Yuuri?” Victor asks curiously, as he scribbles on his own piece of paper with a marker.

“It’s a secret,” Yuuri returns, even as he scrawls out his wish in slightly shaky characters.

“Please, let me have this for as long as possible,” he repeats within his thoughts. Though there are no words, Shinri’s presence surrounds him in a comforting blanket, offering support without question.

Victor makes puppy eyes in his direction. “Come on, show me, Yuuri – you can see mine!”

“No,” Yuuri resists, stubborn, and the Russian skater gives up without much of a fight, obviously sensing he won’t be moved on the subject.

“Fine,” he pouts. “You can still look at mine, though, because I’m a kind and generous coach.”

“Sure you are,” Yuuri snorts, but looks at the offered slip of paper anyway.

The writing is in rather awkward Japanese, which surprises him. He wasn’t aware Victor had been learning the language, at least beyond what he picked up naturally from the conversations around him. The wish itself is enough to make him smile, though.

“I think you meant laugh, not aim,” he tells his coach, fighting against the laughter building up in his throat.

“What?” Victor snatches the paper back and stares at it as if he’s been betrayed. “Oh. Whoops?”

Yuuri doesn’t stop smiling as he corrects the ‘ne’ in Victor’s shaky kana to a more sensible ‘wa’ with his own marker. It’s Victor’s wish, after all – for the both of them to keep having fun together.

They tie their wishes on one of the bamboo trees, after struggling to find a spot with enough space for two more wishes. They look as if they belong there, side by side among all the hopes and dreams of others, two bright sparks within a crowd.

“Yuuri,” Victor catches his attention with a soft touch on his cheek.

“What?” he murmurs back, the cheer of the celebration around them falling away into something softer, more private.

“Thank you,” is what Victor tells him, smiling and gentle, all of his attention focused on him.

Yuuri isn’t sure what he’s being thanked for, exactly, but he knows the feeling that accompanies the words. He knows it well, even if the thought becomes more distant as Victor’s eyes flicker down and back up, too fast to follow, and Yuuri’s lips part in realization.

“Oh,” he whispers, faintly, before his mouth is being covered by another.

Victor is kissing him, he realizes, as his eyes automatically flutter closed, blocking out the blurry mass of people around them, bringing the entirety of his focus to the gentle pressure against his lips.

The frame of his glasses is pressing uncomfortably against his cheeks, and the heat of both the weather and the crowd is making him sweat, but the feel of the kiss, so soft and adoring makes him forget all of that. It’s more than he’s ever thought to want, more than he’s ever imagined. It’s Victor, it’s Yuuri, alone and together.

It’s amazing.

The pressure eases off, Victor pulling back from him, and Yuuri slowly blinks his eyes open, staring at the – nervous? – visage of his coach. The noise filters back to his ears, a distracting blanket of sound that fights to draw his attention away from the man in front of him. Yuuri ignores it.

He thinks he should be blushing, maybe, but something prevents him. Instead, he smiles, small and slow at first, then wider, until he feels he’ll break from the force of it.

“Victor,” he breathes out, filling the name with all the words he can’t think of.

The nervousness on Victor’s face disappears, as his lips pull into an answering smile, his eyes containing all the adoration and love in the world. Yuuri has no idea how he didn’t see it sooner, with how clear it appears now. Of course Victor loves him – it’s obvious.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, because he needs to say it. He’s not sure what he’s thanking his coach for, either, just as he doesn’t know everything that Victor is thankful for, but it’s enough to voice it, he thinks.

Victor smiles a little wider and reaches back down to grip his hand once more, so he must understand.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he suggests, his voice still quiet and somehow private despite the public location.

“Alright,” Yuuri agrees, still smiling as they turn to blend in with the crowd, to follow its ebb and flow to one of the food stalls.

This time Victor is the one who follows, his grip around Yuuri’s hand somehow less stiflingly hot than before, more comforting despite the sweat and the people bumping into them.

It feels a little like belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes, this time. First of all, reminder for the words that got used a lot this time;
> 
> Youma are demon beasts. Taika means the people born on this side, brought over by a shoku while still in their eggfruits. Kaikyaku are the "sea guests", aka people brought over from Japan to the twelve kingdoms. Shoku are the mysterious, magical storms that overlap this side and the other side with often devastating consequences.
> 
> Actual notes~!
> 
> Yukata are one of the forms of wafuku, or traditional Japanese clothes. They're often worn for special events like festivals, where something as fancy as a kimono would be too much. Some people still wear them in daily life, as well. They're comfortable and airy, so they're very nice to have in summer.
> 
> Tanabata is a fairly well known thing, I think, as is the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi - I apologise if the rendition of it in the story was boring, therefore. Tanzaku are the paper slips you write your wishes on, before tying them up. Tentei was something I hadn't really thought of before, so realizing he actually has even the same kanji as the Emperor of the Heavens was something of a surprise for me, though I imagine TK draws quite heavily on our myths. I believe in their realm, this would be seen as natural - since the universes have always overlapped at times, and gods can freely cross over. It makes sense they might have visited this side at some point, as well - enough to give birth to stories.
> 
> Shushou and Kyouki are lovely characters. Shushou was chosen as the next king when she was merely twelve, after making the journey to the mountain herself, because if there was a chance she could be the king she had to take it - the country was in rather bad shape, and Shushou, for all her capriciousness takes responsibility very seriously. Kyouki is a very un-kirin-like kirin.
> 
> Lots of places got mentioned this time. As noted before, there are twelve kingdoms in TK (hence the name), arranged quite symmetrically. The outer kingdoms, away at the edges of the world and in the Void Sea, are Tai, Shun, Ren and Hou. The kingdoms bordering the inland seas that surround the Yellow Sea and Mount Hou are, clockwise from the topmost, Ryuu (northmost), En, Kei, Kou, Sou (in the south), Sai, Han and Kyou. They create something akin to a star in a shape.
> 
> As to the inland seas, there are four, all arranged geometrically around the Yellow Sea. They are, from the top, the Black Sea, the Blue Sea, the Red Sea and the White Sea. I'm uncertain if they actually connect properly, since the gates to the Yellow Sea would interrupt this - but I've assumed, for the sake of the story, that they've either mined a way through or the connecting land is higher up, with a way below it to continue on to the next inland sea.
> 
> The Cloud Sea is an actual sea, above the clouds. It's quite the sight, supposedly, and it's where the new king will ride on a Genbu, creating a trail in the sky as one of the signs of a new monarch taking the throne (genbu is a massive creature akin to a turtle). The sea above the clouds is where the rain comes from, though exactly how this works is unclear.
> 
> Rakushun is a half-beast or a hanjyuu, one of the king of Kei's good friends and her first proper acquiantance on the other side. He's a pretty strong character in the original stories. The characters for his name are 楽俊.
> 
> Half-beasts, or hanjyuu, are a curious phenomenon. Since the children of TK come from trees, they don't take on any sort of genetic appearance. A couple can have a hanjyuu as their child, even if neither of them are one. Half-beasts have both a human and an animal-like form, and they can shift between the two at will. Most prefer one shape over the other. Many kingdoms discriminate against them, making taxes higher for hiring them etc (supposedly, since having e.g. a bear hanjyuu would be an unfair advantage, but this ignores the other varieties), though En is known as one of the kingdoms to accept them more fully.
> 
> Greater Learning and Lesser Learning are levels of education in TK. Greater Learning is akin to University, though the subjects are vastly different and include things like archery and horse riding as required skills.
> 
> What Victor wrote was ずっといっしょにねらってほしい, which - in simple Japanese - means 'always to aim together', though he meant to write 'to laugh'. The difference is fairly small, ね or わ (ne or wa).
> 
> I wrote 95% of this within the last 24 hours, so if it feels rushed, apologies. There might be more mistakes than usual, as well~  
> As always, massive thank you to all of those who kudos'ed, commented, bookmarked - whatever form you took, I adore all of the feedback I get! It keeps me going (ﾉ´♡´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, to gain something, you have to give something up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The revelation exactly no one will be surprised by, and the start of the competitive season. A warning; it's time for this fic to start earning its angst tag, which will become more obvious next chapter. 
> 
> The angst is about to hit the fan.

With September, come the regionals. Victor, for his part, seems surprised over their very existence – as if having to compete for the right to represent one’s home country is somehow a novel idea. For him, it probably is – Yuuri doubts he’s ever missed a single competition, and Russia would be stupid to not allow him to represent them. 

To be fair, the regionals manage to surprise Yuuri as well, just a little. In the past, he never paid much attention to which competitions he did and when, just going along with his then-coach to wherever he was dragged. Apparently, having skipped the nationals and the worlds the previous season means that he has to re-qualify for the Grand Prix series, though, so the regionals will be his first test flight for the programs Victor and he have stitched together over the past few months.

Victor seems overly confident he won’t have much challenge on national level, to Yuuri’s mild consternation. It’s true that he finished second in the GPF last time, and as far as he remembers, Japan hasn’t been doing too well on the skating front of late – but there’s always the possibility of new, rising talent. Hopefully, though, there won’t be a serious threat, or his Grand Prix journey could end before it even starts. That probably wouldn’t reflect well on Victor’s tenure as a coach.

Yuuri isn’t exactly nervous, but he’s not feeling overly confident either. While he’s landing the jumps cleanly most of the time and his step sequences are as polished as always, he still doesn’t feel like he quite understands the final component of his short program. The feelings of desiring and being desired aren’t things he’s familiar with, even now, and he doubts they’ll ever come to him naturally. It’s obvious in his skating, as well – the lack of “Eros” is something Victor criticizes him for almost daily.

His free skate is somewhat easier, with the story so familiar and easy to fall back on, but even that has its issues; Victor had insisted on placing most of his jumps in the second half for the higher score, claiming he had the stamina for it. He probably does, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy – the free program is technically the hardest he has ever skated, demanding utter focus and leaving no room for error, often to the detriment of the emotional aspect.

It really doesn’t help when he draws first for the short programs.

“How are you feeling?” Victor asks, as Yuuri returns to his side with a conflicted expression, away from where the others are drawing their numbers.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuri replies, honest. “I don’t like going first.”

“Why?” Victor blinks, tilting his head curiously. “Does it make any difference when your skate is?”

“What? No, but…” Yuuri stares at his coach incredulously. _Surely_ he can’t be that naïve? Then again, he doubts Victor has ever felt nervous over skating in his life. Though it’s obvious he’s worked hard to get where he is, he has an aura that exudes easy confidence and charm – if Yuuri were the type to be jealous, he would probably be liable to kill his coach at first possible opportunity, just for that alone.

Murderous thoughts are probably not conductive to the sort of mental state required for skating about sexual love and desire, though.

“You worry too much,” Victor says fondly, lifting his hands to rub at Yuuri’s shoulders, probably feeling the nervous knots already forming under his palms.

“And you worry too little,” Yuuri returns drily. “I have to make up for your half, too.”

Victor laughs in delighted surprise, despite the rather lackluster joke, prompting the kirin’s mouth to tug up into a smile in response.

He supposes he could be worse off – a confident coach, two technically excellent programs and someone to support him, even if rather obliviously, aren’t things he ever thought to want; but they’re no less appreciated for all that they’re unexpected, there without him having to fight for it.

There’s a minor commotion as one of the competitors gets excited over drawing fourth, for some reason. Yuuri fights the urge to go and ask them to swap with him, futile as that hope is. He doubts the officials would go along with it, for one.

“To be that young again,” Victor sighs, following his gaze.

“You’re not that old, Victor,” Yuuri chides him, smiling again. “Besides, he might be older than he looks, you know.”

Victor gasps with horror. “If he looked that young and was my age, I think I would have to cry. Would you dump me if I looked old, Yuuri?”

“Victor!” Yuuri hisses, glancing furtively around them, but it seems no one is paying attention. Thank heavens. “You can’t stay that kind of stuff!”

“Does that mean you would?” Victor is looking at him with huge, plaintive eyes. Despite knowing it’s a pretense, the expression is convincing enough that it causes Yuuri to feel some unnecessary guilt.

“No,” he gives up with a sigh. “Even if you lost all your hair and went bald, I wouldn’t ‘dump’ you for that. I’d like to think I’m not as shallow as all that.”

Victor’s expression is truly horrified now, though. Yuuri observes curiously as his coach opens and closes his mouth wordlessly once, twice, then lets out a small noise that sounds almost like a whimper.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, reaching for his face before hesitating. “Are you alright?”

“Bald,” Victor repeats faintly, looking seconds away from fainting himself. “I would _never_. Never. Yuuri, you’d tell me if my hair was getting thinner, right?”

“Uh,” Yuuri stares, perplexed. He had no idea the Russian skater was so worried about his hair, of all things. He thinks back to his earlier observations of self-assurance and nerves and mentally apologizes for ever thinking the fretting dork in front of him was someone who breathes confidence and charm.

“Your hair is fine,” he says, snapping out of his thoughts just in time to stop Victor from heading for the nearest beauty salon to pester them about hair care tips. “Really, Victor, it looks fine, you can’t leave in the middle of a competition!”

“Oh.”

Thankfully, that seems to remind Victor of their current location, and he settles himself with a small tug at his fringe and a final, nervous glance to a nearby billboard, with enough glaze on it to show a faint reflection of them both.

“If I ever go bald, Yuuri,” he states solemnly, turning back towards Yuuri as if trying to impress the sincerity of his words, “you have my permission to ask them to make it quick and painless. I don’t think I could handle the torture of a long, slow death like that.”

“Victor,” Yuuri says as slowly and carefully as possible. “You do know that hair loss isn’t fatal, right? It’s not really even a disease.”

“It might as well be,” Victor whispers mournfully, running his hand through his hair as if to confirm its continued existence.

The kirin seriously considers planting himself face down on the floor.

 

As Yuuri prepares for his short program by stretching against the wall, his attention is caught by a voice calling his name, at a very large volume and more eagerness than he feels his name deserves.

“Yuuri-kun!” the caller is suddenly right next to him, as if they teleported there from somewhere across the rink.

“Ah – hello?” Yuuri blinks, straightening from the wall in mild confusion. The boy looks vaguely familiar, with bright hair that has an even brighter strike of attention-drawing red splashed on it. There’s something vaguely dog-like about the kid’s expression; so eager, his eyes filled with stars. The kirin can almost visualize the fluffy tail that ought to be wagging behind him.

“I’m your biggest fan, Yuuri-kun!” the boy exclaims, with the same volume as earlier. Yuuri winces slightly, taking a step back from the overly bright, adoring expression directed at him. He tries not to glance around himself, to check for whoever the kid’s obviously mistaking him for.

“Um, why?” he can’t help asking. “I mean, thank you, but… really, why?”

The boy’s expression falls. “You’re Japan’s ace! You came second in the last Grand Prix, and your skating is always so beautiful! And you kept on going through everything that the press wrote or said, and proved them wrong! You’re the reason I decided to start skating competitively!”

Yuuri blinks helplessly. He remembers how eager the papers were for his story, back when he’d just come back, even after his transfer to Detroit. They’d speculated long and in detail about how he’d recover from whatever he had gone through, wondering if he was keeping secrets and if he could really get far at his age, after the long absence. Most of the things written back then were far from nice, so he stopped looking up anything pertaining to himself fairly quickly. He wonders, idly, what they say about him these days, in their fancy write-ups and wild conjectures.

“Thank you?” he offers, hesitantly, realizing he probably ought to reply.

The boy looks heartbroken, so he probably chose the wrong words. Nothing new there.

“I’m Minami Kenjiro,” he says, face twisting into something determined and almost accusing. “I’m going to skate on the same ice as you one day, as real competition! So you better watch out!”

The kid’s coach appears, fashionably late, to drag the protesting boy away with her, bowing apologies all the while. Yuuri watches them go feeling about as nonplussed as he had through the whole, bizarre conversation.

“You’ve got a fan!” Victor says cheerfully, materializing at his side and causing him to jump.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, trying to calm down his breathing.

“I was here the whole time,” Victor pouts at Yuuri, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket. “You were so intent on your young admirer that you didn’t even notice me? Should I be worried that you’re thinking of switching me for a younger model, after all?”

Yuuri groans. “Victor! Stop bringing that up, please. Aren’t you supposed to help me focus, not distract me further?”

“Oh?” Victor asks, his eyes glinting. “You want me to help you focus on your Eros?”

Yuuri’s breath stutters in his lungs, prompting him to cough and turn away quickly to hide his reddening face. “Not like that! Why are you being such a bully today?”

“Aww,” Victor’s voice contains the pout he can’t see, facing away from him. “But you’re adorable when you’re trying to be mad at me.”

He’s yanked backwards, stumbling on his feet, as two hands snake around him and pull him flush against a familiar form. “Though I’d prefer that you don’t _really_ get mad at me.”

The words breathed against his ear prompt an involuntary shiver and he can feel the small smile Victor presses against his neck as he hugs Yuuri closer, enveloping him in warmth and security. That same sense of belonging is still there, calming his slightly frayed nerves instantly. He breathes out slowly, relaxing his shoulders as his lungs drain of air and his mind of thoughts. Victor breathes with him, the gusts of breath tickling the wisps of his hair escaping from the hair tie holding them.

“I’ve never really cared about how I place,” Yuuri confesses quietly. “In competitions, I mean.”

“Really?” Victor sounds curious, though the kirin doesn’t turn around to check his expression.

“I just wanted to skate,” he explains. “But if I don’t do well – Celestino was an experienced coach with a long history of coaching others, so even if I did badly, it wouldn’t have mattered that much. But I’m the first person you’ve coached. People are going to expect things. Say things. I don’t want my performance to reflect badly on you.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor sounds almost amused, for some reason, but there’s a soothing undertone to his words. “I don’t care what people think or say. I never have. You could fail all of your jumps and I still wouldn’t care. Well, not personally, at least – as your coach, I’d give you a long lecture of all that you need to work on, but you know that, already. Even if you retired right this second, I’d love you no less.”

“Victor…”

“But,” suddenly the tone is strict, commanding, “you’re not going to retire, not today; you’re going to go on that ice and amaze them all with your beautiful skating. I know you can and will do it, because I’ve seen you do it over and over in practice. Your Eros could use a little work still-”

“Victor!”

“-but I have full faith in your ability to enthrall the audience, regardless. Go and seduce them, Yuuri. Show them the story only you can skate.”

Yuuri is quiet, soaking in the words.

“Did you practice that in front of a mirror?” he asks, after a moment.

Victor doesn’t reply for a long while, then turns him around in his arms, smiling sheepishly but with bright, bright eyes that meet his and hold. “Only a little.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Yuuri became aware of was something prodding insistently at his side – a branch, perhaps. He thought of opening his eyes, but there was a bone-deep tiredness to his muscles, and it felt like too much effort to even consider the action. The prodding was becoming annoying, though.

He tried swatting away the source, but the most he managed was to twitch his fingers, his arm feeling heavier than lead. The prodding, oddly, stopped at this.

“Oh, he’s alive,” a childish voice spoke, sounding distinctly disappointed over this fact.

“Should we get someone?” another voice questioned, half-mumbled as if muffled by something.

Yuuri furrowed his brow slowly, finally mustering the energy to try and open his eyes. Gods, but the lids were so crusted that prying them open felt like trying to open one of the four gates to Koukai by force. Even opening them to a slit made them water horribly, distorting his vision so much he might as well have kept them closed.

“Oh!” a third voice gasped out, startling him a little. “Who is this? Kodan, Rei, why didn’t you come and get me! If I hadn’t come looking, who knows how long it would’ve taken for someone to happen across the lot of you! Quick, run back to the field and fetch someone – and tell them to send for Usu, she should have a look at him.”

There was the sound of slowly fading, hurried footsteps and giggling, probably as the two children that had apparently woken him ran off to do as they’d been told to.

“One of these days those two are going to get eaten by a demon beast,” the voice from earlier muttered quietly, seemingly to itself, as it grew closer. There was a gentle touch across his brow, brushing away his hair, followed by a small tsk sound.

“You look terrible,” the voice informed him frankly. “Can you hear me? Can you speak?”

Yuuri fought to open his eyes again, finding them closed once more. The view, as before, remained blurry, but he could make out the shape of someone crouched over him, watching his struggle in silence. He tried to wet his lips, only to find his mouth so dry the effort was pointless – it felt like all the moisture had been sucked out of him, leaving behind nothing but cracking soil and the grit of sand. All he achieved was a dry, hacking cough, spreading painful sparks of pain through his lungs on a spider web of steel.

“I’ll take that as a no,” the person above him sighed, sounding slightly put out but strangely pleased despite it. “I guess that means you can’t object to me deciding you’ll be staying in our home while you recover!”

“We don’t get many new people around here,” the voice confided to him in a whisper – unnecessarily, seeing as they were the only two around. “I can’t wait to hear about everything you’ve seen and done! It has to be better than _this_ life, at least.”

“Senran!” a low voice boomed from further away, and the person hovering above Yuuri withdrew and stood up, turning away from him. “What silly thing have you got into, this time?”

“Oh, I found something nice! Do you think I can keep him?”

There was a loud bark of laughter in answer, as yet another blurry shape, this one notably larger, approached Yuuri’s prone form, pausing as they reached him and his… savior, for the lack of a better word.

“If you can convince your father – which I’m sure you will – I don’t see why not, as long as the boy doesn’t flee from you, himself. I certainly wouldn’t blame him.”

“Please,” the first person – Senran, the man had called her – scoffed cheerfully. “He couldn’t lift a finger, let alone actually _run_ right now. It’s going to take some time before he’ll be in any condition to run off on his own.”

“You might be right about that,” the man admitted, grunting as he crouched and threw Yuuri over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, prompting a small sound of protest from the kirin. “Sorry about that, kiddo, but we’ve got to move you somehow. Since you chose the working hours to be discovered, I’m all the transport you’ve got.”

Yuuri resigned to his fate – not that he could really voice his complaints anyway – and closed his eyes to block off the dizzying sway of the ground below. It was making him feel nauseous, and throwing up on the people who seemed to be helping him felt like poor manners.

“It’s not all bad,” Senran offered from beside them, and there was a pat against his hanging right arm as if in consolation. “At least it wasn’t the demons that found you, rather than us.”

Well, there was that, he supposed.

 

“Dehydration,” the woman Senran had introduced as Usu pronounced, as she prodded at his prone form on the low, wooden frame that passed for a bed in his new accommodations. “And over exhaustion. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he tried to swim across the sea and half succeeded. He’s in surprisingly good shape, given where you found him. I don’t think he’ll have any trouble making a full recovery.”

“He’s also right here,” Yuuri said mildly, glad to be able to speak again, by the virtue of the small cup of water Usu had forced on him promptly after getting her first look at him.

“ _He_ needs to rest and save his voice,” Usu returned with a steady stare, and Yuuri quieted down without a fight. There was something oddly reassuring about the older woman, a sort of no-nonsense attitude that demanded respect and obedience.

“So when can he actually start talking properly?” Senran asked brightly from her chair, observing them both and leaning forward eagerly.

“I should tell you ‘not for months’ just to save the poor boy from your incessant questioning,” Usu replied dryly. “Alas, I don’t think I could lie well enough to convince you. He should be fine to speak normally tomorrow, the day after at the latest. Don’t push him if it seems to be causing any pain or coughing.”

“Got it!” Senran said cheerfully. “Did you see my father when you passed the fields?”

“No,” Usu answered, frowning slightly at the mention of the man. “He must be at the manor, if he’s not out on the fields.”

“Again?” Senran said, looking oddly subdued.

“Well,” Usu sighed, reaching out briefly to ruffle her hair, “I suppose I ought to go. I might as well check on Hichou while I’m in the area.”

“Oh!” Senran brightened up again. “Can I come with you? If he can’t talk yet, there’s no point in being here.”

“Have you even asked for his name?” Usu asked, lifting a brow and staring at the young girl expectantly. “You’re being very callous towards someone you forcefully ‘rescued.’”

“Ah,” Senran mumbled, looking properly chastised. “No.”

“Sorry,” she continued, turning towards Yuuri who had been quietly watching them both from his position on the bed. He didn’t mind, really – he actually found the both of them and their interactions interesting. Before leaving Mount Hou, he hadn’t had the chance to observe people doing normal things like bantering much – the sages weren’t ones for idle chatter, and the pilgrims visiting the mountain would always go silent if they noticed him.

“It’s okay,” he said honestly. “I don’t mind. It’s Yuuri, though – my name.”

“Yuuri? You’ll have to show me how to write it, later!” Senran seemed pleased with this new piece of information, smiling at him with such openness and sincerity it was almost surprising. “I’m sorry to abandon you so soon, but we’ll talk more when you’re actually allowed to speak. I’ll tell you all about here and you can tell me all about where-ever you came from – sounds like a fair trade, right?”

Yuuri nodded hesitantly, but couldn’t help returning the bright smile directed at him with a small one of his own. “Thank you as well, Lady Usu.”

The woman in question let out a startled laugh. “Lady Usu? Good heavens, no need for that! Just call me Usu. There’s no ladies to be found around here. We’re all simple folk.”

“You mean other than Her Highness,” Senran muttered, looking away from them. It was the first Yuuri had heard her sound almost angry – there was something bitter about her tone, almost mocking.

“Senran,” Usu said sharply, her eyes piercing. She didn’t say anything further or challenge the younger girl’s words, but Senran’s shoulders slumped as she took in a breath and turned around to face them once more, a smile back on her face.

“I’ll see you later, then, Yuuri! Don’t leave the house, okay? It’s not safe to go anywhere without a group, these days. I’ll be back before dusk, and I’ll introduce you to my father!”

“Alright,” Yuuri agreed, a small furrow in his brow as he watched the two women leave the room together.

There was something that was going unsaid, most likely something they wouldn’t – or couldn’t – discuss in front of an outsider like him. It would probably take time, but Yuuri wanted to return the favour they had gifted him, in taking in and helping a stranger, despite knowing nothing about him.

“Ginsaku,” he said quietly. The shirei appeared, jumping on the bed with a small thump, to regard him with a pair of pale, keen eyes, set in the distinctively pointed face of a large, silver-furred rat. “Find out what you can. Don’t get discovered if you can help it.”

Ginsaku growled his agreement, the deep, reverberating sound at odds with the tiny body it ensued from. The rat scurried away, swiftly blending in with the shadows of the room.

Left alone, Yuuri sighed. He doubted any of the other passengers of the ship had survived – the only reason he was alive at all was his other form, the innate gift of immortality bestowed upon the kirin. He had no doubt that had he been just a human, he would have drowned along with the rest of the crew.

He wondered if any of the others’ bodies would eventually wind up on one of the shores of wherever he was, now. He doubted they would be recognizable enough to ferry back to their homes, wherever those were – most likely, they would be buried the same way as those without any legal identity, with no one to weep over their gravestones. It was a cruel fate, but then many were on this side – Yuuri had learned that passing away quietly, in peace, was more of a rarity than the norm.

He hoped whatever afterlife there was beyond this existence would be kinder to their souls than this life had been. There was nothing he could do, in any case – nothing other than continue as he had before, existing, looking for that indefinite something he might never even find.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s prediction turns out to be correct, not that Yuuri expected otherwise. His short program goes well – he touches down on his quad salchow, and the pcs isn’t as high as he’d like, but overall the execution is good – earning him a score relatively high for so early in the season, though not quite breaking into the triple digits.

True to his words, Yuuri’s coach listens to the score with a pleased looking smile.

“We’ll go over the things you need to improve on later,” he promises, not looking bothered in the least as he waves at the camera pointed towards them. “You did well, Yuuri. I’m proud of you.”

“You make that sound oddly patronizing,” Yuuri notes, though it’s not a complaint as much as an observation. “Though I don’t doubt you could have skated it better.”

“Maybe,” Victor agrees, smiling. “It wouldn’t be the same, though, would it? Besides, I have no doubt that you’re going to keep on improving as the season goes on.”

Yuuri bites on his lower lip, but nods as he follows his coach towards the eagerly awaiting press, just as the first notes of the next skater’s music start echoing over the ice. The reporters take their approach as a permission to start peppering him with questions, trying to catch his attention for themselves. It’s more than a little overwhelming, until Victor steps forward, edging in front of the kirin slightly and drawing the attention to himself, instead.

“One at a time, please,” his coach says, smiling that well-practiced smile Yuuri hasn’t seen much of late. “We don’t want to cause a commotion, do we?”

Yuuri breathes an internal sigh of relief as the press quiets down, shuffling a little before one of them pipes up after some silent battle of wills that they apparently win, through no sign that he can discern.

“How do you feel about being one of the top candidates to win this season?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise. He hadn’t known he was a candidate to win in the first place, let alone one of the top ones. Then again, perhaps he should have – he _did_ come in 2 nd last GPF, even if he missed Worlds, and Victor, the one everyone would expect to take gold, isn’t competing this season.

“Um,” he hesitates, uncertain what to say. “I’m honored?”

The press member looks displeased at his short answer. To be fair, it came out more like a question, and probably won’t make for much to write about. Another reporter presses forward, shooting an oddly smug glance at the one from before. “What are your thoughts on your competition this year?”

Yuuri furrows his brows and thinks over the answer carefully. “I think all of them are amazing, skilled skaters. There’s a lot of tough competition this year, and it’ll be a close fight over the spots at the GPF. I hope I can represent Japan at the finals.”

Once again, the press doesn’t seem to find his answer particularly useful, if the frowns are anything to go by. Yuuri honestly doesn’t know what they’re looking for or what to say in order to please them; it’d be easier if they just frankly told him what they want to hear.

Someone at the back shouts out a question: “What is the relationship between you and your coach, Victor Nikiforov?”

“Right,” the man in question says firmly, moving to block the press from Yuuri’s sight once more. “That’s enough questions, I think! We don’t want to steal the show from the other skaters.”

The press members grumble, but disperse, not looking too surprised. Yuuri is still reeling over the last question, not having expected it. It’s one thing to ask about his competition, but personal relationships are something left to the gossip magazines – it’s not the kind of thing he’d have thought he needs to prepare for at an official event.

“Yuuri-kun!” Minami shouts from behind them, startling Yuuri once again. At this rate, he’ll have a heart attack before they even get to the free programs.

“Ah, yes?” he asks, turning to look at the shorter skater uncertainly. Given their last conversation, he’s not sure how to react to the kid, or what to say to him.

“Did you watch my skate?” the younger skater demands, his eyes as full of stars as before. There’s still something unsettling about it, an uncomfortable feeling that tugs at Yuuri’s memories and settles like a rock at the bottom of his stomach.

Yuuri furrows his brow and stares at the boy for a short, quiet moment, trying to trace the source of the feeling, before the increasing fidgeting draws his attention to the fact he’s yet to answer the question.

“Sorry,” he explains apologetically. “I was being interviewed, so I missed it.”

Minami’s expression turns heartbroken once more. Yuuri just can’t stop disappointing people today, it seems.

“I even modeled my costume after one of your earliest performances!” the boy wails, pulling open his jacket to show off the outfit underneath. Yuuri squints at it, trying to place it in his memories, but coming up empty. Celestino arranged most of his costumes, so none of them really stuck in his mind – they were simply something he wore for a while, before shipping them off to home. He doesn’t even know what happened to them after that, whether they’re still held in storage somewhere or thrown away or perhaps even donated to some place for further use.

If possible, Minami looks even more distraught than before, his eyes filling with tears. “I swear I’ll make you see me as serious competition, Yuuri-kun! You better do your best in your free program, because I’m going to be giving it my all!”

“Wait,” Yuuri calls out helplessly as the boy runs off, wailing all the while. He lets his arm drop from where he raised it as if to somehow stop the younger skater, staring at the empty hallway.

“Well,” Victor says, from his side, having stayed quiet until now. “That could have gone better.”

“I didn’t mean-” Yuuri stutters, turning towards his coach with pleading eyes. But Victor looks cold, somehow, his gaze judgmental and disappointed.

“You should try to treat your fans better, Yuuri,” Victor tells him, no smile to be found, practiced or real. “I’ll go ahead to the hotel – go to bed early today, you need to sleep well.”

Yuuri stares as he’s left behind once again, without being given the chance to explain.

“But I didn’t mean to dismiss him as competition,” he mutters to the empty space, the distant voices of the staff, the press and competitors alike a faint murmur, somewhere far away. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

 

It takes until he’s getting ready for bed to realize what Minami had reminded him of, with his eager, hopeful face that quickly turned to disappointment. Victor is away in the adjoined room, something they had agreed on together (or rather, Yuuri had insisted on until the Russian man gave in), not having approached him after the earlier scene at the rink.

The people of Kou had looked to him with just as much hope and adoration, once, before it was replaced with defeat, disillusioned by reality. The hopefuls ascending Mount Hou had dwindled over time, their appearances growing more and more haggard as time passed, their expressions losing any signs of joy, turning to blame and anger.

Yuuri thinks of Victor, just one room away from his, and wonders if his coach is thankful for Yuuri having insisted on the separate rooms, after all. At least he won’t have to see that look of disappointment on his coach’s face again. He doesn’t think he could handle it right now.

Yuuri falls on the large bed, curling in on himself on top of the blankets. He had thought they might share it, so he had made sure the beds were big enough for two. No chance of that now.

He thinks idly back on the years, of all the times he’s let down the people around him. First, when he was lost and the people of Kou were left without hope. Then, when it took him so long to find a king. Even after finally locating the next king by pure chance, the hope granted to the people was short-lived, and their kirin soon abandoned them once more. And later, after his return to Hourai, he refused the memories he had made, forsaking those he should have remembered the most. Poor Senran, who had deserved none of it, and all of his shirei, always so faithful and there. If he had never met Senran, had never made his shirei his, would they have led happier lives?

And he’s still not done with letting people down, is he? This time he’s managed to disappoint the most important person in his life right now. If Victor isn’t happy with the way he treated Minami, what would his coach think of the way he turned his back on his own kingdom?

Yuuri blinks, and is surprised by the sudden cascade of wetness down his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t noticed the tears gathering in his eyes or the steadily blurring view of the room’s window, with its curtains drawn. He doesn’t think he deserves the tears, the release crying can bring, not when he’s at the root of the cause for them. He’s brought this on himself – he’s not the one who should be crying over it. That right belongs to those he’s failed, those who’ve suffered the most for it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the empty room, his throat aching from holding back the sobs and the heart lodged in it. “I’m so sorry.”

It takes a long while before he falls into an uneasy sleep, and his dreams are full of desolate fields and abandoned homes. He’s almost glad when morning finally arrives, for the excuse to get up.

In the end, Victor never came.

 

* * *

 

The place he had found himself in was called Fugou, as Yuuri learned from Senran after she returned. It was an island off the coast of the mainland, the final port between the kingdoms of Kei and Kou, belonging to the latter. Despite its somewhat inconvenient location out in the Blue Sea, it was an important port town for ships sailing from Kou to Kei or En, and considered a district; thus, large enough to be of note for the kingdom.

The kingdom of Kou, like most of the twelve lands, was divided into provinces, which were further divided into districts that consisted of four prefectures. Each prefecture contained five counties, which held several cities of varying sizes. Fugou, despite being an island and not a particularly large one at that, had four prefectures to it as well; Yuuri was in the southmost of these, close to where the manor of the prefecture’s governor, Kain, was located.

According to Ginsaku, who had returned before Senran, the woman was equally well known for her intellect as she was for her cruelty. She was the second daughter of the governor of the Nei Province, and had been assigned to Fugou by her father – whether this was permitted or not was unclear, considering that there was currently no king in Kou to oversee the assigning of the land.

Kain held ownership over most of the fields in the prefecture, having either bought or seized them over time, sometimes through less than legal means. This meant that most of the people living within the prefecture worked under her, on the fields, in order to make a living. Senran’s father was no different, though he was the overseer of the workers for the fields closest to the governor’s manor. There were rumours that he had gained this position through both bribes and flattery, though how much of that was true was uncertain.

Yuuri had acted suitably impressed by Ginsaku’s report and the things he had discovered, before dismissing the gruffly pleased shirei. Senran had arrived soon after, looking as cheerful as she had before her sudden bout of discontent. The first sign of trouble came upon the return of Senran’s father, a sturdy man with large arms and almost comically short legs. Senran was not much shorter than him, creating a curious effect despite the obvious disparity in age, apparent in their features.

The man had eyed Yuuri glumly, before looking to Senran for an explanation.

“He washed up on the shore,” the girl explained, sounding surprisingly nervous. “I had him brought here to recover. He can stay with us for a while, right?”

Her father didn’t reply, turning a shrewd gaze back to the kirin.

“There was talk of a shoku at the manor,” he said at long. “Did you drag in a kaikyaku, Senran?”

Senran’s eyes widened at the news, and she turned to look at Yuuri with a new light within them, before seemingly remembering herself and lowering her gaze demurely as if chastised. “Maybe.”

The man sighed heavily. “You know how kaikyaku are regarded here, Senran. You should know better than to do something like this. Think of your future.”

“But father!” Senran complained, lifting her face to plead with him. “The only ones who think that are Lady Kain and her entourage!”

“Senran!” her father barked, sharply, glancing around as if afraid someone could’ve been listening in under the windows. Senran pulled back, startled, before straightening again, hunching her shoulders and clenching her hands into fists.

“You care more about what Her Highness thinks than you do about your own family!” she yelled, sounding furious, before rushing out of the room, the bang of the front door sounding soon after.

Her father, left behind with his mouth open on a rebuke, sighed and shook his head, then seemed to remember Yuuri’s presence and turned to regard him with an undecipherable look.

“You can stay until you’re able to get around. Then you better get out of here and fast. I won’t have you ruining our reputations or spreading around whatever kaikyaku nonsense you’ve got your head filled with.”

Yuuri stared at him with wide eyes, and nodded his head hastily when he realized the man was waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. The gesture seemed to appease him, as he nodded back stiffly, before turning around and leaving the room as well, the door closing with a heavy clunk behind him. Yuuri heard the sound of a lock clicking in place and grimaced.

“ _An interesting character_ ,” Ginsaku’s voice remarked bluntly.

“ _You mean an insolent fool_ ,” Shourai disagreed.

“I’m not sure we can blame him,” Yuuri pointed out, feeling the need to defend Senran’s father. “We’re – I’m technically a stranger, within his house. It makes sense not to trust too blindly, in this case.”

“ _Either way_ ,” Shinri replied, her voice calm, quieting the rest of the shirei, “ _we should not linger here too long. This Kain sounds like she might cause problems; we should leave once you’re able to move around on your own, Kouki._ ”

Yuuri nodded, wordlessly agreeing with her. He would have to find some way to repay his debt to Senran, Usu and the man who had carried him before then.

 

Senran woke Yuuri up in the morning, seeming to have recovered from her outburst the previous day. She smiled as she sat by his bed, waiting for him to finish his bowl of gruel with an expectant expression on her face. As soon as Yuuri lowered the wooden spoon and placed it in the bowl, she leaned forward.

“Are you really a kaikyaku?” she asked, eyes opened so wide she looked even younger than usual.

Yuuri hesitated only briefly. “Yes.”

It would be the easiest explanation, for now. Despite the way these people seemed to regard kaikyaku with some wariness or suspicion – with apparent exceptions – it was clear they didn’t know much about them, to assume they would even speak the language. There was no way he could tell them he was the kirin of their land, in any case; Shinri was right in saying that Kain sounded like she might try to do something, were she to know the importance of the random stranger that washed up on her shores.

“I’ve never seen one before! I thought they always come from the Void Sea, and not many even make it alive, so I’ve never heard of one this far into the west.”

Yuuri winced at the words, wondering why he hadn’t considered that. He shrugged, trying to appear as nonplussed as she was. “I don’t know how these things work. I only know I was somewhere else and then I was here – Usu explained the word kaikyaku to me.”

Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask the woman about it, or his story would be very short-lived, indeed.

“What’s it like Over There?” Senran asked, her eyes sparkling as she continued without waiting for a reply. “Kumi claims she heard someone say that all the buildings are gold and the roads are lined with gems.”

“It’s not that amazing,” Yuuri hurried to say, his eyes a little wide as well. If people thought of Hourai like that, it made sense they would treat kaikyaku with suspicion. “It’s not all that different, when it comes down to it. There are no buildings of gold – well, except for paint, maybe – and no gems lining the roads, at least.”

“Oh,” Senran looked disappointed, pouting slightly. “That’s boring. But at least I can tell Kumi she was wrong!”

This thought seemed to cheer her up some, so Yuuri smiled back at her. He quietly listened to her think aloud for a while, before voicing a question of his own.

“So your father works in the fields? Do you work there as well?”

“No,” Senran said, her face darkening a little. “I would – I want to help, too. But father won’t let me work there. He’s been saving up to send me to Lesser Learning; he says he wants me to study and get a post somewhere stuffy, doing government work or something. He keeps saying Kain’s arranging a spot for me, on the mainland. That’s what she always claims, though. I don’t think she’s actually done anything, but father won’t listen to me. He’s always Lady Kain this, Lady Kain that.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, at loss for words. “What about your mother?”

It was immediately obvious that had been the wrong question, for Senran’s face darkened even further.

“She ran away when I was little, with some peddler,” she said. “Father would have me think she died, but I overheard some of the workers talking about it when they didn’t notice me.”

“Oh,” Yuuri repeated, floundering for something to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“It’s fine,” Senran dismissed, waving her hand as she visibly tried to cheer herself up. “Forget about that, I want to hear more about you! There’s got to be some things that are different Over There, so tell me more about it! I want to know everything.”

So Yuuri did his best to explain cars, hot springs, ballet and airplanes – whatever happened to come to mind. Senran seemed fascinated by it all, oohing and aahing frequently, her whole body animated as she posed questions and took in the things the kirin said.

“Aaah, I’m so jealous,” Senran complained as they took a break for lunch, and Yuuri’s voice was getting scratchy from all the talking. “I wish I could travel and see at least something beyond these same old fields.”

“You want to travel?” Yuuri asked, curious. Perhaps this was something he could help with.

“Yes,” Senran said, looking a little despondent. “I’ve heard all kinds of stories about different places, but I’ve never even left the county. I want to see more. But Kain would never issue a travel permit, and I don’t want to leave my father and everyone else behind, so I’m stuck here. Though I suppose it’s not really safe to travel right now, anyway. The demon attacks are getting more common, even in the middle of the sea like here – I hear it’s even worse on the mainland. No one travels alone, anymore.”

“That sounds… difficult,” Yuuri offered carefully. He couldn’t help feeling guilty for it, even if he had dutifully waited on Mount Hou for years, for a king to appear. Perhaps he should’ve tried harder, somehow.

“Well, things are still fairly good here. I feel sorry for the people in Agan, though. The last ship they sent here with supplies got hit by a sea serpent – they said they barely managed to escape. There’s less ships coming this way, now.”

“I guess it’s still your home,” Yuuri said, trying to infuse his voice with warmth and comfort. Senran tilted her head thoughtfully, then nodded.

“You’re right, it is,” she said, smiling again. “I read somewhere, once, that coming home is the best part of travelling. Maybe that’s why I’ve always wanted to see the world – to remind myself that I have a home, right here waiting for me.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t go over what Yuuri could stand to improve in his short program. Victor is still radiating disapproval when they get to the rink, appearing stern and less approachable than Yuuri has ever seen him, before. Even when the Russian man was a complete unknown to him, a stranger he shared the ice with, he hadn’t seemed as distant as he does now.

Yuuri thinks his tiredness is probably obvious on his face, in the bags under his eyes and his disheveled hair, but Victor doesn’t comment on any of it, merely takes his skate guards when the warm-ups start, telling him shortly to stick to step sequences and avoid jumps.

He has no idea how to fix this, how to wind back time to before he gained Victor’s disapproval, how to get him to look at Yuuri and actually _see_ him instead of just through him, again. This isn’t a Victor he recognizes, and he doesn’t know what to do with this version of his coach.

He wonders if his distress is obvious on his face, because Minami actually shoots him a few concerned glances as they warm up. It’s oddly sobering to be on the receiving end of concern from the person he’s somehow managed to let down. Even if he doesn’t know how, he has to figure out a way to fix things – that much is clear.

Yuuri will be skating last, having scored the highest on his short program. Minami is scheduled to go on right before him. As the younger skater’s turn is almost upon them, Yuuri gathers his courage and approaches the boy who immediately notices him, posture going rigid and still.

Yuuri greets the coach who nods at him, before leaving them alone with a quick pat on Minami’s shoulder and a smile.

“Um, Minami-kun,” Yuuri begins, still not sure what to say, but desperate enough to try anyway. “I’ve not paid much attention, in past competitions – I always just wanted to skate. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was dismissing you, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Belatedly, he wonders if mentioning feelings is a bad move – if this was Yurio, the Russian “tiger” would have chopped his head off for even implying he could have something as gross as _feelings_. Luckily, Minami seems to have no such problems – his eyes immediately water up with tears, but he looks oddly happy for all that he’s crying.

“Yuuri-kun!” he all but sobs, choking out the words. “I’m sorry too, I’ve been your fan for a long time now! I’m just so glad to skate on the same ice with you. Please do your best in the Grand Prix, I’ll be rooting for you the whole way!”

“Minami-kun,” the boy’s coach returns, nodding shortly at Yuuri before turning to her skater, “you need to get ready to go on.”

Yuuri takes it as the dismissal it is, and bows his head slightly. “Good luck, Minami-kun. I’ll be watching carefully this time!”

“Yes! I’ll do my best to not let you down!”

Yuuri opens his mouth to correct the younger boy, but decides against it. It’s obvious the kid’s fired up and full of determination, ready to skate. He doesn’t want to ruin it with any more unthinking words, so he remains quiet and just smiles, before looking around for his coach.

Victor is nowhere to be found, however, and Yuuri is unable to locate him before the end of Minami’s program – which he watches as promised, only glancing around for his missing Russian half furtively when he thinks he can get away with it. Minami is skilled, that much is obvious. His technique and jumps still need work, but the solid foundation of an amazing skater is there, as is the showmanship and charm one might expect from a successful icon. Yuuri doesn’t doubt that Minami will go far, once he gets more jumps in his roster and hits the bigger competitions.

Victor reappears just before Yuuri’s set to go on, smiling once more. His eyes are thawed from the cold ice they were earlier, and Yuuri feels relief – though he knows they still have to talk about it. For now, he’s just grateful to have his usual coach back.

“Are you ready, Yuuri?” Victor asks, and as rare as the gesture is for him, Yuuri is the one who goes for the hug, this time. He breathes in the scent of Victor – a familiar, soothing fragrance that’s difficult to place but that calms his nerves more than anything else.

“I am now,” he replies, quietly. Victor eyes are slightly wider when he pulls back, but they soften quickly and he’s granted a smile, just as warm as always.

“Good,” is all Victor says, before stepping back to check his costume over and brush a few escaping strands of hair away from his face. The older man tugs on his braid with a small frown.

“I still think you should’ve gone with just the front parts braided instead of all of it,” Victor pouts.

“And risk not being able to see anything at a crucial part?” Yuuri says, exasperated. This is an argument they’ve had many a time before, and one Victor never fails to bring up.

“It’s not like you can see much anyway, without your glasses,” Victor points out cheerfully, but lets go of the braid so Yuuri can take off his skate guards and get on the ice.

Despite his fatigue and earlier nerves, he feels calm as he skates to the center of the ice, more present than before. He thinks he can skate well, now – quite likely the best he’s skated this program so far. The feelings are right there, as are the memories, brought close to surface by both Minami and Victor. There’s the ever-present guilt and sadness, the sense of loss, but there’s also the new things he’s started to notice more and more of late.

As the first notes of the familiar song fill his ears, he moves, and thinks of Mt Hou, of the sages and the love they bestowed on the lonely child they welcomed into their lives. He thinks of his family, back home, and how they’ve always tried to be understanding and supportive, even when they didn’t understand something, _couldn’t_ understand. They still always tried, and they’ve yet to stop trying.

The strain of the program feels muted, distant. The people he’s lost are still there, in his memories, even if they’re no longer present. Senran’s smile and needling are forever etched in his mind, and he doubts he’ll ever forget her. Even if he lived a thousand years, Senran will always be his first king, and his first true loss.

He has more things he doesn’t want to lose, now, things he holds close and dear to himself. His family is still there, still just as supportive. There’s skating, and his friends, old and new. Enki and Phichit, whose unconditional affection is a comforting constant in his life. His shirei and Shinri, always just a thought away. And there’s Victor.

Victor, who laughs easily and hides his anger. Victor, who pouts to get his way and is petty over the silliest things. Victor, who hates tomatoes but will eat them if Yuuri feeds them to him. Victor who loves to tease Yuuri, to spend time with him. Victor who loves Yuuri. Loves _him_.

He launches himself into the final jump of his program – a quadruple loop – and lands it cleanly, smoothly transitioning into the final spin sequence as the notes slowly fade out. He’s breathing heavily, suddenly becoming aware of his own exhaustion and the sounds around him that are deafening. People are clapping and shouting, and the announcer sounds excited as he praises the program Yuuri just skated.

Yuuri is only interested in one reaction, though. He hunts for Victor in the crowd, trying to locate the silver hair of his coach, and spots him waiting at the mouth of the rink, with his arms held open as if to welcome him back, off the ice.

Yuuri can’t keep the grin off his face as he skids forward, leaping directly into Victor’s arms, ignoring the voices of the crowd. Victor stumbles slightly from the force of the jump, spinning around to redirect the force, and manages to stay on his feet.

“That was beautiful,” Victor breathes against his ear, hugging him tightly. Yuuri can hear the smile in his voice as he buries his own, answering smile into the collar of his coat. Yuuri feels a little gross, sweaty and out of breath, but Victor doesn’t seem to mind.

Victor pulls back to meet his eyes and smiles so brightly, so openly, it’s blinding. The adoration is broadcasted in every minute detail of his face, from the flicker of his eyes to the upturned corner of his lips.

The feeling that’s been steadily growing within him bubbles over.

‘Oh,’ he thinks, somehow both not surprised at all and completely floored by the thought that brings his mind into a sudden halt, a focus so clear that the sharpness of it is almost a physical sensation. _‘_ Oh. I love him.’

It’s a realization, stripped of all pretenses and masks, and it feels like something clicking into place within him, long overdue. It’s followed by another thought, more of an understanding than a sudden revelation, something he’s probably known for a while now but, somehow, ignored: ‘He’s my king,’ and then, ‘I can never tell him.’

He’s still dazed by both of these realizations as his scores are announced, placing him firmly in first. Victor is herding off the press and Minami is screeching something congratulatory in his ears, but he can’t pay attention to any of it, too distracted by his own thoughts.

Victor is his king. Was this what Rokuta meant when he talked about running away from his king, only to run straight into him? Even meeting Senran had seemed like a coincidence, but there’s something more ominous to it the second time.

Yuuri idly registers Victor talking happily as he guides the non-resisting kirin towards the prize ceremony, trying to nod and mumble one worded acknowledgements when it seems like his input is required.

Victor is his king, but before that he’s the one Yuuri loves. He had already decided before not to look for his king, but now that he knows it’s Victor, he’s even more sure that it’s something he’ll never pursue further. It’s for Victor’s own good – a king is tied to their kirin by their very lives. If the kirin dies, so does the king. A kirin can survive the king, but the king never survives the kirin – not for long, at least.

He won’t be the cause of Victor’s death. Even if he has faith that his coach wouldn’t stray from the path, wouldn’t bring the Losing of the Way upon them – and he knows better than that, knows that all kings, even the good ones, eventually reach the same end – he doesn’t have to look far back to know what makes it a bad idea. Kou isn’t ready for a king. Just think of poor Senran, murdered by the same people who had been crying for her very existence for so long.

No. He won’t risk Victor. Victor is the _only_ thing he won’t risk – he’ll fight to the last to protect him, and right now that includes preventing him from becoming the king. Yuuri will never swear his allegiance to this man. The only thing he can swear is his love and devotion; that will have to be enough.

Yuuri becomes aware of his surroundings again, slowly, and realizes he’s stood in the middle on the podium, with the gold medal around his neck. He dredges up the best smile he can manage at the moment, noticing Victor’s concerned eyes on him and the furrow in his brow that smooths out as Yuuri aims the smile in his direction. Minami is beaming next to him, holding up his silver medal.

Yuuri wonders what his score is, but can’t remember if he even heard when they announced it. It doesn’t really matter, he decides. It doesn’t matter what Victor is, either, beyond the one he loves and the one who loves him. Those are the two important things.

He believes in that, without any hesitation – but that doesn’t stop the feeling of foreboding that’s spreading like creeping, sharp-thorned vines within him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter notes this time, I think. Last Monday, my computer ate the writing I had managed that day when I did a Windows reset and it somehow copied the older version of the file, rather than the one I had saved and copied before. I was pretty bitter over it for a few days, meaning that writing this chapter was doubly as hard ;). Hopefully it's not horribly apparent in the writing!
> 
> If you want to really feel the angst of the hotel musings scene, I recommend listening to [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wjhxs_Tf2U4) while reading it.
> 
> Recap on vocabulary:
> 
> Kaikyaku are "sea guests," aka the people who are transported to the Twelve Kingdoms via a shoku from Japan.  
> Hourai and Over There are nicknames for Japan.  
> Shoku is the magical storm that overlaps the two realms.  
> Youma is the other word for demon beasts. 
> 
> Actual chapter notes:
> 
> Fugou is an island off the inner coast of Kou, close to the border with Kei. It's described exactly once in the novels, very shortly referred to as a district and the last stop before leaving the kingdom's borders. Most of the information here is conjecture, since the geography of Kou isn't overly detailed.
> 
> The political system of Twelve Kingdoms is a nightmare to anyone not familiar with the subject. There are so many titles and positions it's impossible to make sense of; though provinces and regions appear to have governors, at least. The ones of various regions of Kou are never really named, so I've taken liberties with this as well.
> 
> Farming and fields are one of the most common ways to earn a living in Twelve Kingdoms. Everyone gets an assigned plot of land upon reaching their maturity, though some choose to sell it and work on someone else's field instead. In this, Kain purchased the land until she owned most of the fields around. She has the monopoly, now, whether she obtained it legally or not.
> 
> It's not immediately obvious in the story, but time has been passing as Yuuri was travelling in the Twelve Kingdoms - it's actually now fairly close to his 17th birthday. Someone in the books remarked that to cross a kingdom by foot would take around 4 months, from one edge to the other - the lands are by no means small or pocket sized. 
> 
> In case you forgot, Shourai was Yuuri's first shirei, the kyuuki he pacified. Usu's name uses the kanji 雨子 for "rain" and "child," while Kain's name is written with 花音, "flower" and "sound." Lots of lady power in this chapter.
> 
> I've not had a chance to give this chapter a proper proof-read, so I apologize for any mistakes or errors~! There might be more than usual. Next chapter should be fairly interesting, since -as noted earlier - it's time for some angst build-up. Not to worry, though, it won't be only that - there's plenty of other stuff to come, too.
> 
> As always, thousands of thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks and comments. Especially the comments ₍₍ ◝(●˙♡˙●)◜ ₎₎. It's been a pretty rough week, but the feedback keeps me going~!

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. If you're unfamiliar with the Twelve Kingdoms verse, this might not make much sense, but hope you got something out of it anyway!
> 
> It's loosely based around Taiki's story, but not quite the same.
> 
> Hasn't been beta read and English isn't my first language - if you spot any mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them~!
> 
> If you want to chat or have questions, I go by [snowbouquet](http://snowbouquet.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr (my avatar is George, the skull, as drawn by me so you can recognize me from that and the massive amount of YoI reblobs.)


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